


The Dirtiest Thing You Know

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's a prince undercover, trying to delay a fate he doesn't want. Ian's a student, who has no idea what's going on.</p><p>Rumors, lies, confusion, anger, and frustration ensue.</p><p>So does sex</p><p>[title and inspiration from "Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out" by Richard Siken]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prince and the pauper

**Author's Note:**

> For noelfshr on tumblr for the prompt. :D

Mickey glances around the curtain, his lower lip caught between his teeth. His parents are in the sitting room talking with Barbara Walters – out of retirement just for this – and the television crew was hovering. Mickey knows that he’ll have to deal with the press and all at some point, and he’s already been warned three times that if he does anything out of line, he’ll regret it.

And, crown royalty or not, his dad is really good at making people regret things. Even his own sons.

Especially his own sons.

Mickey glances down at his watch. According to the schedule that had been delivered with his breakfast and sent to his phone and laid out on top of his approved outfit for the day, Mickey’s presence isn’t required until that night at a dinner with some influential families that are pissing themselves at the invite.

Moving away from the curtain, Mickey jogs up the back stairs that he’d discovered their first night in the house. Mickey has a thing about knowing escape routes.

He shoves his selected and approved outfit back in the closet and shrugs on a black leather jacket he bought off one of the servers the night before. His parents would absolutely lose their shit if they saw him dressed like this. His parents do not approve of faded and worn jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a used, beat-up leather jacket. But better they disapprove of that and not anything else. Mickey isn’t into sports, but he totally understands that the best defense is a strong offense.

And Mickey’s exceptionally good at being offensive.

**

Getting out of the house and avoiding his bodyguards is easy. He’s not sure where to go, but the destination isn’t as important as the freedom. He knows the real purpose of the trip to America. Mickey’s of age and his father is intent on marrying him to someone advantageous, someone to provide an heir. Never mind that Mickey doesn’t want to be married, doesn’t want to be a father, and sure as fuck has no intention of ever, ever doing what his father wanted.

He starts walking, taking in the sights of the city from the ground as opposed to from the plane or armored car. He’s never been to Chicago. They’ve spent most of their time in the states in New York or Los Angeles. He’d never have gotten out of the house in either of those places, but his dad is trying to come across as liberal and open-minded, so Mickey’s got a little more leeway to play. Walking through the city is different. He likes the smell of the air, the lake, as well as everything else. 

He likes everything else the best. It smells real. 

It smells like pancakes.

Mickey spies the diner and checks his wallet. He’s not actually worried about money since he always has his credit card, but he prefers cash. No paper trail and no signing his real name. He heads inside and inhales. He hasn’t had pancakes since he was ten, but the smell floods him with memories and his stomach growls.

“Hey.” A tall redhead with arms that make Mickey’s mouth water more than the pancakes do smiles at him, his face practically split with the grin.

“Hey.” Mickey glances around at the empty restaurant. “Don’t suppose I can get a table?”

“I don’t know. It’s rush hour. I can see what I can do to squeeze you in though.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

The guy looks around, his mouth twisted, frowning. “Hmm. Gonna be tough. Maybe over here?” He grabs a menu and leads the way to a booth along the far wall. Mickey slides onto the bench seat and takes the menu. “Drink?”

“Whiskey?”

“Well, I have orange juice, water, milk, chocolate milk, or soda. Which are all almost like whiskey.”

“Orange juice I guess.” Mickey can’t help smiling back at the guy. His grin is infectious.

“An excellent choice. It’s aged seven years in an oak cast. A rich, full-bodied flavor with a fruity nose.”

Mickey laughs. “Making up for the lack of customers by angling for good tips. I like it.” He opens the menu and looks it over. “And what would you suggest?”

“Well.” The guy grabs one of the silverware settings on the table and unrolls it, draping the paper napkin over his forearm. “The bacon is a favorite, always crispy. Scrambled eggs can come with a delicate layer of finely shredded cheese if sir wishes. For pancakes, I suggest the plain buttermilk with warmed maple syrup, though the chocolate chip ones do come with a piquant whipped cream smiley face.”

“Oh. Well.” Mickey tries to bite back a smile but fails miserably. “I think I have no option but to go with the chocolate chip.”

“Always an excellent choice. The whipped cream comes from nothing but the best supermarket bought pressurized cans.” He clears his throat and looks at Mickey for a moment that seems longer than it actually is. “And what kind of meat would you like?”

Mickey raises his eyebrows. “What’s your preference?”

A blush starts in his cheeks, obscuring his freckles. “Sausage.”

“Well, I’ll try that then.” His voice is lower than he intends it to be, but the guy smiles and walks off. Mickey turns his head to watch. There was no spark of recognition in his eyes. Mickey bites his lower lip in thought. If the guy doesn’t know him and means what he’s implying, Mickey’s stay in America is about to get interesting.

**

The top pancake has two piles of whipped cream for the eyes and chocolate chips for pupils. There’s also a whipped cream smile and a maraschino cherry for a nose. The sausages are curved slightly, positioned as ears and the orange juice is in an oversized brandy snifter. Mickey looks up. “Really?”

“It’s our tip jar. But, you know, going for classy.”

The guy honest-to-god winks at Mickey. “Oh, definitely.” Mickey takes a sip and swishes it in his mouth then swallows. “A _very_ good year.”

Mickey gets that goddamned smile again and he does his best to ignore how good it makes him feel. The guy clears his throat. “Well, let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“You can tell me your name. In case I need to get your attention in all this chaos.”

“Ian.”

Mickey holds out his hand. “Mickey.”

Ian’s smile hasn’t left his face. He backs away to the next booth and sits down facing away from Mickey. Mickey takes a few bites then stabs one of the sausages with a fork, holding it up to take a bite. 

“Hey, Ian?”

“Yeah?” Ian turns around in his seat, his eyes falling immediately to Mickey’s mouth. “Do you need something?”

Mickey nods his head. “What are you doing?”

“Studying.”

“Studying what?”

“Business management.”

“Yeah?” Mickey takes a bite of the sausage, licking an errant drop of syrup off his lips. “What’s that involve?”

“Accounting. Human resources. Business law. Economics.”

“Lots of math.”

“Yeah. But basic math. I can manage that.” Ian looks away from Mickey’s mouth finally. “What about you?”

“Was in the Army for two years. My dad insisted. I got some pussy posting, no action. Now I’m working on becoming an evil overlord.”

“I was in the Army for a hot second.” Ian turns more in his seat. “What are the prerequisites for being an evil overlord?”

“Hardest class so far is maniacal laughter. Still can’t manage higher than a B.”

“Can’t really take over the world with just a B in maniacal laughter.”

“I know. Sucks, man.” Mickey’s pancakes sit untouched. “So do you work here or is it an apprenticeship or internship or whatever?”

“Just a low-paying job to keep me in overpriced textbooks and train fare. Luckily I eat for free.”

“What do you do for fun?”

“Typical college student. Drink too much, smoke too much, don’t sleep enough.” Ian shrugs. “I don’t actually live around here. Just killing time on the north side of town.”

“Wrong side of the tracks for you, huh?” Mickey says it lightly, sensing that Ian might take offense. “People real over where you live?”

“Real fucked up.”

“People are fucked up everywhere.” Mickey stabs the cherry off his pancake and sucks it off his fork. “When do you get off?”

Ian licks his lips. “I get off work in an hour. Anything else is up to you.”

Mickey grins and goes back to his pancakes, watching through his lashes as Ian turns around.

**

Mickey doesn’t fuck much. At home everyone knows who he is, so there’s no way anyone can know what he is, what he likes. When he was in the army it was the same, all of his postings too close to home, all too much like putting him on parade.

He fucks his fist most of the time, watching downloaded porn on his computer. He has a few toys hidden away, delivered to a post office box under a different name. The prospect of fucking – of potentially getting fucked – keeps his gaze locked on Ian until a few other customers come in. Ian gets busy, so Mickey leaves money on the table for his bill and Ian’s tip and heads outside, purposefully brushing against Ian as he goes. Ian stops at the contact, question in his eyes.

Mickey pulls out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth as he walks outside. He smokes it slowly, holding the smoke in his lungs. He’s just crushing the butt under his foot when Ian walks out, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“The tip was more than the bill.”

“The service was worth it.” Mickey pushes off the wall. “Lead the way.”

Ian heads down the sidewalk, adjusting his stride to Mickey’s. “What are you in the mood for?”

“What are my options?”

“Well, I got a great tip, so we could rent a room.”

“You looking for romance, or you wanna fuck?”

Ian grabs Mickey’s arm and leads him into an alley. He drops his backpack to the ground and presses Mickey up against the wall, leg pushed between both of Mickey’s. Heat pulses down Mickey’s spine to his dick. He grabs Mickey’s wrists and pins them to the wall. Ian’s voice is rough and hot, “This what you want?”

“Getting there.” Mickey looks up at Ian, both of them breathing unevenly. “This all you got?”

Ian grins, hot and full of promise. He leans in, eyes locked on Mickey’s mouth. Mickey turns his head so Ian stops. “No?”

Mickey twists his hands free of Ian’s and undoes his jeans, shoving them down his thighs. He turns around and braces himself on the wall. He glances at Ian over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked. “You need a fucking formal invitation or is this gonna do?”

Ian groans and picks up his backpack, digging in one of the pockets. Mickey looks back a the wall and bows his head. He hears Ian’s zipper then feels the cold sting of lube, pressure against his hole as Ian’s fingers slip into the cleft of his ass. Mickey bites his lower lip as Ian pushes, biting his lip to keep from making any noise.

He’s fucked himself plenty, but the push of someone else’s fingers, the unexpected, the possibilities, takes his breath away. Ian pushes one finger in deep, knuckle breaching the muscle and Mickey hisses, pressing his forehead hard against the brick.

“Fuck. Ass is so tight. Can feel you clenching around me. Sure you’re going to be able to take my cock?”

“Will if you know what you’re doing. C’mon.”

“You want more?” Ian’s voice is a thick purr in Mickey’s ear, his breath fanning against the sensitive skin, teeth grazing Mickey’s earlobe. “another finger fucking into your hot ass?”

“Quit fucking talking and start fucking.” Mickey’s voice strains as Ian pushes another finger in. Mickey’s whole body tightens and then he arches his back, rolling his shoulders forward. He lifts his ass, offering it up to Ian, for Ian.

“Christ I want to fuck you. Gonna burn going in if I do it now. Gonna make you ache. Make you feel me for days.”

“Shit. Get the fuck inside me.” He thrusts back onto Ian’s fingers until they’re suddenly gone. They’re replaced with the slide of the condom and the slick of lube. Mickey rises up on his toes as Ian pushes in.

It does burn. It burns and hurts and stretches and Mickey pounds his fist against the wall.

“H-harder.” He can tell Ian’s holding back, keeping himself in check, and there’s no way in hell Mickey’s going to settle for this not being the pounding of his life. Ian’s dick feels huge inside him, filling him up and tearing him apart. “Quit being a goddamn pussy and fuck me.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s hips, his fingers digging in. Mickey groans and pushes back against Ian. “This what you want?”

Mickey pants a laugh, half-taunting and half-begging. “If that’s all you’ve got.”

He feels Ian’s nails dig in and his hip bones slam against Mickey’s ass, his balls slapping against him, skin on skin. It’s fucking perfect, their rhythm hard and relentless. Ian’s cock fills him and slides back, slamming in harder each time. A sound gets caught at the back of Mickey’s throat and he reaches for his dick. Ian laughs breathily in his ear. “Punking out so soon?”

“Fuck you.”

Ian’s hands tighten further on Mickey’s hips as Ian pistons inside him. “M-my job.”

“You’re all mouth and cock, aren’t you?”

Ian bites the skin where Mickey’s neck meets his shoulder, teeth digging in, grinding as he buries himself deep. Mickey can feel Ian’s whole body tense and then jerk as he comes.

Mickey tilts his head and gasps as Ian releases his teeth, gasping for air. Mickey’s hips rock forward and he comes all over the wall. He wraps his hand around his dick to keep it from dripping onto his pants, his fingers clumsy.

Ian’s breathing hotly on the back of Mickey’s neck and Mickey starts to recognize sensations that _aren’t_ Ian. Sweat and the breeze and the noise of the street. Mickey blows out a breath then shakes his dick. Ian moans as Mickey moves then his hands cup Mickey’s ass as he eases out.

Mickey’s knees give slightly at the sudden emptiness, the different ache. He’s sore and stretched and sticky slick with lube as he tugs up his boxers and jeans. He takes a slow, deep breath then exhales and turns to face Ian. He’s caught by the hot flush of Ian’s skin, the lazy satisfaction in his eyes. Mickey drops his gaze to Ian’s cock. Even spent it’s pretty fucking impressive and Mickey wants it back inside him. He reaches out and runs the tip of his fingers over the milky white drop caught in the slit.

“I give you a big tip, you give me a big tip. Tit for tat. Classic economics.” Ian’s body jerks at Mickey’s touch, his cock twitching. Mickey smiles and digs a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lights it. Ian’s eyes fix on Mickey’s mouth as he takes a drag. “Nice meeting you, Ian.” He sketches a salute and heads out of the alley, hoping he can find his way back home.

**

“Where the fuck have you been?” Mandy hisses at Mickey as he slips into the line beside her. “Dad’s livid.”

“He’s always livid.”

“He almost called the cops. He thought you’d been kidnapped.” Mandy stops her hushed conversation as a couple walks up to them, introducing themselves, angling to get closer to their parents though them. Mickey starts to say something, but Mandy’s look keeps him silent.

The couple moves down the line and Mickey leans in to continue their discussion. “Let me guess, and then he realized nobody would get anything by taking me.”

“Fuck dad. _I_ was worried.”

“Just went for a walk.”

“After ditching both bodyguards.”

“I didn’t ditch them. Just didn’t let them know I was leaving.”

“You’re going to get them fired.”

“They should be better liars. They’ve had enough practice by now.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“Thanks.” He smiles at Mandy and then at the group of prospective wives posing and on display. He greets them all and then glances to the front of the ballroom at his parents. “How much longer?”

“I count six Mrs. Mickey wannabes. You’ve got another hour to go at least.”

“Keep laughing, sis. Your turn next. He’s probably going to sell you to the highest bidder.”

“Long as he doesn’t give all his money to our folks, I’m cool with it. Spending money, a box of toys, and my fingers are all I need.” She holds out her middle and pointer fingers at Mickey, bending her thumb like she’s dropping the hammer. She shoots him and sticks her two fingers into her mouth and sucks on them, releasing them with a wet popping sound. “Have gun will travel.”

“You are so gross.”

“Don’t worry, Mick. I’m sure they won’t mind teaching you what to do. Some girls like an innocent man.” Her smile is slightly twisted, her brow furrowed with doubt. “Actually, no. No girl wants that shit. We so need to get you laid.”

“I don’t need my little sister’s help getting laid.”

Mandy turns Mickey toward the dance floor. “Better start dancing then, Prince Charming.”

**

He has four dates in his calendar for appearances. He can’t put names with any of their faces, because Ian’s face is the only thing on his mind. He undresses in front of the full-length mirror and turns to his side. Blue purple bruises and red quarter moons from Ian’s fingernails stand out against his pale skin. Mickey fits his hand to the bruises, fingers pressing hard to the marks Ian left behind. 

Mickey’s cock gets harder the harder he pushes. He pants out a breath then reaches back the slides two fingers to his ass, pushing them inside, still watching himself.

“Fuck.” It’s not enough, even with the bruises. Mickey goes over to where he tossed his jacket across the bed. Beneath it is a black box Mickey lifted from a store he passed on the way back to the house. Mickey carries it over to the door with him as he checks to make sure it’s locked and then opens it.

The dildo is almost as big as Ian. Mickey carries it back over to the mirror, watching as he slides it in and out of his mouth. It’s obscene and hot and Mickey can only imagine what it would be like to suck Ian’s dick, watch in the mirror as he sucked him down, watch that huge cock as he swallowed it down.

Mickey grunts softly and rubs his palm roughly over his dick. His breath shakes and stutters as he pulls the dildo from his mouth and sits on the bed, canting his hips forward so he can watch himself as he slides it in.

He bites his lower lip hard and closes his eyes for a moment to adjust before he opens them again. He shifts, working it in deeper. He watches as he fucks himself slowly, as spread wide around the dildo, hole red and stretched. He speeds his thrusts, pushing harder. He takes himself to the edge then backs off, repositioning his hips and his ass so the dildo presses against the mattress every time he rocks his hips forward. Mickey rubs his hands over his thighs, stomach, chest. His eyes are blown wide in his reflection as he imagines bigger hands on him.

“Fuck,” Mickey groans, giving in and wrapping his hand around his dick, jerking hard and tight. It doesn’t take him long to get back to the edge, rough breaths with every pull of his hand, every counter in the roll of his hips. He wants to come, wants to blow his fucking load again only this time he wants Ian’s hands on him, his mouth on him.

Mickey shifts forward so the dildo is deep in his ass. His thigh muscles burn as he rides down on it. He keeps one hand on his cock, a blur of movement. With his other hand, Mickey touches the bruises on his hip. His fingers move up to ghost over the bite and then he presses down, coming in quick hard jerks. Micky falls back on the bed, chest heaving.

His phone buzzes and he slaps the bed until he finds it, pulling it over and looking at it. Another one of tonight’s girls inviting him to a party, asking him on a date. He texts a yes in response and drops the phone back on the bed.

Fuck.


	2. the little prince

The thing about Terry is that he grew up in a time when things were rougher, when things had to be done hands on. Where no one got away with anything. They weren’t born royalty. They were made.

Which means Terry is a mean as fuck son-of-a-bitch and he knows better than anyone should how to hurt someone without leaving a mark.

“Mickey?”

Mickey groans into his pillow. It’s 5am the day after a party, so Mickey knows what the early wake up call means. He rolls onto his back, feeling the sharp, hot burn of his stretched ass. “You’re my bodyguard. Isn’t it your job to get your ass beaten up for me?”

“You think I didn’t?”

Mickey opens one eye and sighs. “You guys have to either get better at lying or clear the fuck out when I do so he assumes you’re with me.”

“Like you fucking tell us shit.”

“Fair enough. Gym?”

“Yeah.” 

Mickey pulls on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. “Needed a work out anyway.”

“If he breaks a bone again – even a small one – actually tell us this time, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it, Milkovich.”

Mickey flips him off and heads to the gym, wondering if he can head off his dad’s anger. Terry’s on the heavy bag, his body covered in sweat, which means he’s been working out for a while, muscles warm and loose. “Hey, pops. Got five dates lined up.” He grabs one of the ropes off a hook and starts a jump routine to loosen up as well as arm himself.

“Yeah?” His dad grunts. He stops and stills the bag. “Where the fuck were you yesterday?”

“Doing some research. Need to know the girls I’m looking at. Likes, dislikes, shit like that. Need to impress them, right?”

“Neither of your guys knew where you were.”

“Yeah, well. Not exactly wanting to advertise…checking the girls out, right?” He puts enough of a leer into it that his dad smirks. Mickey shrugs. “Gotta make sure I like the merchandise, right?”

“Ha!” His dad comes over and slaps him on the shoulder. Mickey doesn’t relax, keeps the rope tight in his hands even though it’s less effective at the closer distance. “I expect you to come through this where I want you.”

“I know, pops.”

“Good.” His dad nods and then Mickey’s on his knees on the floor, sharp pain in his side, kidneys from the sucker punch. “Don’t let me down.”

Mickey nods, one hand on the floor and the other on his side. He can’t quite suck in enough air. His dad leaves and eventually Mickey manages to get to his feet. He forces himself through his workout, trying to concentrate on the memory of Ian as he clenches his ass rather than the punch, the fact that he’s going to end up married and miserable.

He finishes up and heads back to his room to shower. There are three messages on his phone that he ignores, getting dressed in an outfit similar to the day before. He knocks on the adjoining room door and pokes his head in. Both his bodyguards look up and immediately sigh.

“Make yourself scarce.”

“Don’t forget the thing tonight.” Evan taps the schedule on the table in front of him. “Really don’t want another shitshow if you’re late.”

“Yeah.” Mickey tosses two hundred dollars on the table. “Have fun. Get laid. Leave me alone. I’ll be back at four. Meet me at the side garden gate.”

Greg salutes him and Mickey flips him off. They’d served together and Mickey technically outranked him, but Mickey refused to let him get away with that shit.

He grabs his jacket on the way back through his room then slips out of the house. It’s cold as fuck out fro spring, so he huddles into the leather, shoulders hunched forward. He actually walks around, following the path by the lake for a while. It’s nice to not be recognized, to have the freedom of anonymity.

It doesn’t take too long before he’s back at Ian’s restaurant. It’s actually busy, but it’s also earlier in the day. Ian comes out of the kitchen carrying two trays. He slides one onto an empty table then starts doling out plates. He’s got a hint of a smile dancing at the corner of his mouth, which makes Mickey think that Ian saw him. He finishes emptying the trays and drops them on the counter before heading over to Mickey. “Careful. You’re going to become a regular.”

“That be so bad?”

“Table for one?”

“Imagine you’re to busy to join me.”

“My coworker’s coming in in a half hour. Get a fifteen minute break then.”

Mickey drops his gaze to Ian’s crotch. “Take a bathroom break now?”

Ian inhales deeply. “Yeah give me a chance to refill a few coffees. Meet you in there?”

“Table first, garcon.”

“right. This way.” Ian leads him to the same table, sliding a menu in front of Mickey as he sits. “Something to drink?”

“Coffee.”

“coming right up.” Ian walks away and grabs a mug and the coffee pot. He starts with refills then sets the mug in front of Mickey. Mickey slides out of the booth while Ian’s pouring, brushing against him. 

“Be right back.” He heads to the bathroom, hearing Ian call out to someone else behind him as the door closes. Ian comes inside a moment later and Mickey pins him to the door, hands tight on Ian’s wrists as he sinks down to his knees.

He smirks up at Ian, watching him as he undoes Ian’s fly, guiding his dick out. He’s not fully hard, but he fills out slightly at Mickey’s touch. Mickey licks his lips and then the head of Ian’s cock.

“Shit.” Ian pushes his hips forward. Mickey takes him into his mouth, stroking him with his tongue until Ian’s dick swells, filling Mickey’s mouth. Mickey starts sucking, mouth tight around him. “Oh, shit.”

Mickey cups Ian’s ass and pulls him forward. Ian goes easily and Mickey presses up with his tongue, trapping Ian against the roof of his mouth. Ian fists his hand in Mickey’s hair, biting his lip as he looks down. Mickey doesn’t look away, pushing Ian closer, pulling him deeper. Ian hits the back of Mickey’s throat and moans as Mickey mouth constricts around him while Mickey fights his gag reflex.

Ian’s fingers tug at Mickey’s hair and then he’s thrusting, fucking Mickey’s mouth. Spit gathers in the corners of Mickey’s mouth, tears leaking down his flushed face. 

“Christ,” Ian gasps, fucking harder and faster into Mickey’s mouth. “Close.”

Mickey hums around Ian and sends him over the edge. He keeps sucking and swallowing until Ian is begging him to stop, then he pulls away with a messy, wet sound and grins up at Ian. He feels fucking wrecked, and it’s amazing.

“You gonna be ready to go again in a half hour?”

Ian watches Mickey stand up, his eyes dropping to the bulge of Mickey’s erection. “You gonna be able to last a half hour?”

Mickey licks his lips. “Don’t worry about me.” He reaches out and carefully tucks Ian’s dick back into his boxers. “And remember, employees much wash hands before returning to work.”

**

Mickey presses his palm against his dick, doing his best to ignore Ian as he walks around. Ian looks loose and relaxed and Mickey can taste the reason at the back of his throat. He looked in the mirror before he left the bathroom to see swollen lips and a flushed face. His dick jerked at the sight, and he thought about staying in the bathroom and jerking off, but the thought of waiting, of holding on, thinking of Ian _telling_ him to wait is too sweet.

The way Ian looks at him like he plans to eat Mickey alive is _definitely_ worth the wait.

Mickey’s pretty sure it’s the longest half hour of his life. He drinks at least five cups of coffee, mostly so Ian will have to come by and refill his mug. It stays busy, so it’s the only way Mickey can get Ian to his table. It’s frustrating as fuck, but Ian keeps smiling at him, and complaining is the last thing on Mickey’s mind.

Finally a blonde with big eyes and a short skirt shows up, calling out an apology to Ian. She disappears back behind the counter, coming back out a few minutes later with an apron on. She goes over to Ian and they talk for a few minutes and then Ian comes over to Mickey’s table. “Let’s go.”

Mickey doesn’t need any more than that. He throws money on the table and follows Ian out through the kitchen. Ian lights up a cigarette once they’re out in the alley, taking a long draw off of it. Mickey watches him then holds out his hand, letting Ian slot the cigarette between his fingers. Mickey closes his mouth around the filter and inhales, watching Ian watch him. “You think you’re good to go again?”

“Don’t worry about me.” He grabs Mickey by the belt loops and pulls him closer. “What about you? You going to last more than two minutes?”

“Don’t worry about _me_.” Mikey grins and blows smoke in Ian’s face. “How you want to do this?”

“Turnabout’s fair play, right?” Ian sinks down to his knees and undoes Mickey’s belt, his fly. Mickey takes another hit off the cigarette before flicking it away, blowing smoke out his nose as he stares down at Ian. Ian looks up as he frees Mickey’s dick from his boxers and leans in, licking a long stripe along Mickey’s length. “Now, you _sure_ you’re going to last more than two minutes?”

“Nothing yet that makes me think otherwise.” His voice is a little tighter, rougher. Ian’s mouth quirks up at the corner in the hint of a grin then he takes the head of Mickey’s dick between his lips. Mickey groans softly as Ian mouths at him, nothing more than pressing his lips to the sensitive skin again and again, never keeping contact for long. Mickey groans again, this time in frustration. “C’mon, Ian.”

Ian ghosts a laugh over Mickey’s cock and Mickey shivers. “Impatient.”

“Don’t talk with your fucking mouth full.”

Ian pulls off and actually laughs so Mickey cups his hand around the back of Ian’s head and pulls him back in. Ian goes easily, taking Mickey into his mouth again. He doesn’t tease this time, engulfing his entire length. His mouth constricts around Mickey, his lips stretched. It feels perfect – tight and wet and hot.

“Fuck.” Mickey presses his fingers harder to the base of Ian’s skull, holding Ian against him. Ian hums and takes Mickey deeper. “Look at your mouth. Shit. Look so good on me.”

Mickey presses his shoulders back against the wall, rocking his hips forward. Ian sucks harder and looks up at Mickey. Mickey can’t help thrusting into Ian’s mouth, can’t help surrendering to Ian’s eager tongue, his hollowed cheeks. Mickey’s not going to last. He closes his eyes and bites his lower lip, muscles tensing as he tries to hold off his orgasm. 

Ian’s hand slide from where it’s fisted in Mickey’s jeans to inside Mickey’s pants. He grasps and squeezes Mickey’s balls, and Mickey chokes on his breath, jerking hard and coming down Ian’s throat. Ian doesn’t stop swallowing around him until Mickey feels like he’s going to fly apart. 

When he pulls back, Ian’s smiling, his mouth wet and messy, swollen and like pure sex. He gets to his feet, cupping Mickey’s balls still. Ian licks his lips. “Gonna taste you all fucking day.”

“How about you just fuck me?”

Ian laughs and squeezes again. “Turn the fuck around.”

Mickey goes easily and eagerly, shoving his pants down further. He glances back over his shoulder to see Ian digging out a condom and lube from his pocket. Ian opens the lube and smears it on his fingers. Mickey inhales, waiting for the first touch.

“Thought about you last night,” Ian practically purrs in Mickey’s ear. Mickey shudders from his hot breath, feeling goosebumps prickle his skin. Ian pushes a finger inside him, his voice still low and rough. “Laid in bed jerking my dick so slow, making it last. Remembering how perfect your ass is.”

“F-fucked myself thinking about you.” Mickey doesn’t actually mean to say that. Doesn’t mean to give anything away, but Ian bites Mickey’s earlobe and sucks it into his mouth. His breath is so fucking hot in Mickey’s ear, making his whole body shiver. He moans when Ian pushes a second finger.

“Yeah? Like this? With your fingers?”

Mickey’s not sure what it is about Ian’s voice that gets to him, makes him confess things he would normally never say. “D-dildo. Not...not ‘s big as you.”

“Good as me?”

“No. Fuck no.” Mickey’s head falls back, resting against Ian’s shoulder. “Fuck me. Jesus, just fuck me, Ian.”

“Sure?”

“Fuck. Yes. Now.”

Ian works his fingers out and Mickey rises up on his toes, whimpering quietly at the loss. He hears the rip of the condom opening and tries to breath normally. He fails miserably, panting in anticipation as Ian hurries, pressing against Mickey’s ass quickly, pushing in with firm and steady strokes until he’s buried deep. His hands clench on Mickey’s hips. “Tell me.”

“T-tell...” Mickey’s eyes fall closed as Ian starts moving. “Watched...watched myself in the mirror. Rode down on it. Took all of it. Thinking...thinking about riding your dick.”

“Fuck,” Ian groans roughly. “Wish I could see that. Watch it fucking up into you.”

“Can...shit, can watch yourself. Watch your dick. Shit. Fuck, Ian, your fucking cock.”

“Feels so good in your ass. Want to just be balls deep in you. Want to bury my tongue in your ass.”

“Fu...” Mickey doesn’t even get to finish the word. His body trembles and his knees feel like they’re going to give out.

“Push your knees up to your shoulders and eat you out. Make you beg. Bet you’re so fucking hot when you beg.”

Mickey clenches tighter around Ian, reaching back and digging his fingers into Ian’s hip. “Do you, fuck...do you ever shut up?”

“Maybe I’ll come inside you first.” Ian’s voice is rough, wrecked. “Eat my come out of your ass and fuck it into your mouth.”

Mickey’s nails are short, bitten down, but he knows he breaks skin when Ian groans, hips stuttering as he comes. He stays buried inside Mickey for a moment, exhaling just before he pulls out. 

It takes Mickey a few moments to realize his ass is hanging out, too shell-shocked to notice. Ian zipping himself up brings him back and he pulls his jeans up, digging for a cigarette. Ian hands him a lit one and Mickey takes a grateful drag. “Shit.”

Ian nods, reaching over and stealing the cigarette back. He smokes for a few minutes before passing it back to Mickey. “I don’t have class tonight.”

“Nights don’t work for me.”

“Job?” Mickey nods because it’s as good a description as any while not being anything close to the real truth. “What do you do?”

“Different shit.” 

“Hmm.” Ian glances at Mickey out of the corner of his eye. “Bouncer? No.” He takes Mickey’s hand before Mickey can protest, rubbing his fingertips against Mickey’s. “No calluses. Not a musician.”

“Could be a singer.”

“True. You’ve got the confidence. But no.” Ian grins widely. “Got it.”

“Yeah?” Mickey can’t help smiling in return. “What do you got?”

“Stripper.”

Mickey chokes on his inhale. “What?”

“Pole dancer.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

Ian laughs and rests his head against the wall. “I should go back inside.” 

Mickey nods. He’s still got hours to kill. “I can drink a lot of coffee.”

“And refills are free.”

“Let’s go.”

Ian leads the way inside and Mickey goes back to his table. Ian’s coworker raises an eyebrow, but Ian just shrugs. Mickey huddles into his jacket and waits for his refill, pulling out his phone. The last thing he wants to do is deal with business and dates and potential brides, but a prince’s work is never done. Even when he’s pretending to be in Ian’s world instead of his own.

**

Ian gets off work at one, and he and Mickey walk around, Ian showing him the sights. Mickey doesn’t say much, but Ian talks enough for both of them. Mickey wonders what it would be like to be like Ian. Honest about who he is and what he wants. It’s a stupid thing to think about, because it’s absolutely never going to happen, but it stays in the back of his mind. Still, walking around with someone – with Ian – and not pretending, even though he is pretending about something else is a thing Mickey never thought possible.

“You’re really not going to tell me what you do?”

“Nope.”

“You really are a stripper, aren’t you? You should be with that ass.”

“You are way too obsessed with my ass.”

“It’s a pretty amazing ass.”

“It really is.” Mickey grins at Ian and Ian smiles back. It’s fucking huge and glorious and Mickey could get lost in the way it lights up Ian’s eyes. Fuck.

“Are you coming for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Can’t.” Mickey shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “There’s a thing I have to do.”

“Ah. The monthly meeting of the Association of Sexy Strippers?”

“A.S.S.?” Mickey laughs. “You’ve got a one track mind.”

“I do. Let’s go to my place and prove it. It’s a shitty apartment in an equally shitting neighbor hood, but it’s got a bed.”

“Hmm.” Mickey tilts his head like he’s thinking. “But I’m not tired.”

“You will be when I’m through with you.”

Mickey is well-versed in bad ideas, and he knows that everything about Ian falls into that category, but he’s got two weeks of dates and parties and a fucking wedding looming over his head. A bad idea sounds really, really good.

“Lead the way.”

Ian’s not lying about his neighborhood or his apartment. It’s about the size of Mickey’s bathroom in the house they’re staying in, smaller than Mandy’s closet. Ian has to move a chair to pull the Murphy bed down from the wall, and the sheets are rumpled when he does. Mickey gets the flash of an image of Ian sprawled on the bed, naked, sleeping and relaxed. Fuck.

“Wasn’t expecting to have company.” Ian grabs the sheet to straighten it, but Mickey reaches out to grab his wrist.

“Just going to mess it up.” He lets Ian go to grab the bottom of Ian’s t-shirt, pushing it up. Ian reaches behind him and grabs the collar, tugging it off. Mickey rubs the tip of his nose across Ian’s nipple before tracing it with his tongue. “Mess you up.”

Ian drops his shirt and cups his hand along the back of Mickey’s head. Mickey licks across the nipple then takes it between his teeth, grinding it carefully between them. His fingers find Ian’s other nipple and pinch it lightly. “Jesus.”

Mickey laughs, hot breath on wet skin. Ian shivers and Mickey moves to the other nipple, trading hand for mouth. He reaches down and undoes Ian’s jeans. Ian pushes them off his hips along with his boxers. He reaches for Mickey’s jeans, but Mickey catches his hands, wrapping his fingers around Ian’s wrists. “On the bed.”

Ian raises his eyebrow, question unspoken.

Mickey shakes his head. “On your back.”

Ian kicks off his shoes and jeans then stretches out on the bed. He leans back on his elbows, propped up so he can watch Mickey. Mickey strips off his shoes and jeans as well, kicking everything to the side. He gets on the bed and parts Ian’s legs, kneeling between them.

Ian spreads his legs further apart. “You’re not naked.”

“No shit, brainiac.”

“Why aren’t you naked?”

“Just...” Mickey can feel the flush burn his cheeks, redden his neck. “Just shut up, okay?”

Ian frowns slightly but nods.

Mickey’s fucked and got fucked at prep school. Given and gotten his share of blow jobs, but it was never about more than sex. Relief. Not a single one of them would have said they were gay, would have thought they were gay. Including Mickey. And the few drunken, nameless, faceless hook-ups were just that. Dark bathrooms and drug-fueled parties are what Mickey knows. He’s never gotten the chance to look. To touch.

He rubs his hands up Ian’s legs from his ankles to his knees. The rough red hair rasps against his palms, and he feels like Ian’s gaze is burning into him. He leans down and presses his tongue in the hollow at the back of Ian’s knee.

“Oh, shit.” Ian breathes the words like some sort of blasphemous prayer. He turns his leg slightly and Mickey nuzzles the space, breathing on it. Ian hums softly and Mickey licks again. He can taste sweat, flicking his tongue and feeling Ian twitch. He moves up Ian’s thigh, sinking his teeth into the soft, pale flesh and sucking on it.

It’s different, taking his time. Smelling and feeling and tasting more than come. It’s strange too, the panicked feeling, the urge to hurry, get off and get Ian off and get gone as quickly as possible buzzes underneath his skin. But when he pulls back and sees the spatter of freckles trailing out from the bruise he just left on Ian’s skin, he has to trace them with his tongue, trying to find a pattern.

Ian wraps one of his legs over Mickey’s back, trapping him between his thighs. Mickey keeps licking, short flicks of his tongue as he works his way up to Ian’s crock.

“Fuck, please.”

Mickey licks Ian’s perineum then his balls. He sucks the loose skin at the base before before tilting his head up and pulling one of Ian’s balls into his mouth. He sucks hard, rolling it on his tongue, pushing it against the roof of his mouth. Ian makes a noise, high-pitched and keening. His leg tightens, and it’s hard for Mickey to breathe, but he doesn’t stop until Ian gasps.

“Close. Fuck.”

Micky pulls back and bites at Ian’s hip, sucking on the sharp jut of bone, focusing Ian’s attention elsewhere. Marks bloom almost immediately on Ian’s skin, and Mickey groans at the sight. He licks the cut of Ian’s hip and then down, ignoring Ian’s cock as his tongue slips along the junction of Ian’s thigh.

Ian groans desperately and Mickey pulls back, smirking. Ian’s cock is leaking, come trailing down the head. Mickey leans in and catches a drop as it falls, his eyes on Ian’s. He’s careful not to actually touch Ian’s cock as he crawls up his body, straddling Ian’s thighs as he takes a nipple into his mouth again.

“Fuck.” Ian grunts roughly, grabbing Mickey’s arms and rolling them over. He bites Mickey’s lower lip hard and then trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down Mickey’s chest and stomach before stripping Mickey’s boxers off and taking him deep.

Mickey’s head falls back and Ian keeps sucking. He feels his cock hit the back of Ian’s throat, but his groan is cut off by as gasp as Ian slides two fingers inside him. It stretches and burns, but he’s still slick from earlier in the alley so it doesn’t hurt. It feels fucking amazing and Mickey spreads his legs wider, silently asking for more.

Ian hums around Mickey’s dick and Mickey shudders like he’s going to shatter to pieces. He wants to ask, beg Ian to fuck him, but Ian keeps short-circuiting his brain with a third finger and then a fourth in rapid succession.

Mickey plants his feet on the bed and pushes up, thrusting into Ian’s mouth, needing more. Ian pulls off instead, and Mickey gasps at the loss of sensation. Ian wraps his hand around the base of Mickey’s cock and squeezes until Mickey’s whole body jerks. Ian’s fingers fuck him through it, pushing him toward the edge, even as the tight fist around him keeps him from tumbling over. Ian slides his fingers free of Mickey’s ass, trailing up the short distance to squeeze Mickey’s balls.

“F-fuck. Fuck me.”

Ian reaches up, body sliding against Mickey’s as he grabs a condom. He goes back on his knees, eyes hot on Mickey as he slides it on. He leans down like he’s going to suck Mickey again, but instead he slides his arms under Mickey’s thighs, pushing his knees back to his shoulders. Ian moves closer then guides one of Mickey ankles to his own shoulder so he can reach down and guide his cock to Mickey’s opening.

He pushes in so just the head is breaching Mickey and then reaches under Mickey’s legs again, sliding his arms up and under Mickey’s s back wrapping his hands over the back of Mickey’s shoulders. His fingers dig into Mickey’s skin and he pulls down as he pushes forward.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey gasps roughly. “F-fuck, Ian.”

Ian lets go of Mickey’s shoulders and grabs the base of the headboard, using it for leverage so he can slam hard into Mickey. Each thrusts forces an involuntary gasp out of Mickey and his heels dig into Ian’s back, his hands wrapped around Ian’s forearms.

He can’t breathe. All he can do is stare up at Ian wide-eyed. Ian doesn’t look away and eventually Mickey has to close his eyes as the friction from Ian’s body on his pushes him over the edge. Ian groans and thrusts hard, burying himself in Mickey as he comes. Mickey gasps again as Ian pulls himself forward, trying to get deeper. After a few moments, Ian carefully pulls out, easing back slowly so Mickey can stretch out his legs.

Mickey inhales deeply, his exhale shuddering out of him. “Holy fuck.”

Ian nods, stripping off the condom before collapsing on the bed next to Mickey. “That was...”

“Holy _fuck_.”

“Yeah.” Ian turns his head. “Told you you’d be tired.”

“You did all the heavy lifting.” Mickey sighs and glances at his watch. “Shit. Shit.” He scrambles out of the bed, grabbing the headboard when his knees almost give out. “Shit.”

“You okay?” Ian sits up, the sight more than a little distracting. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m supposed to be somewhere in about twenty minutes. Fuck.” Mickey digs through their clothes to find his. “I’m sorry.”

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em type, huh?” Ian shifts onto his side, propping his head on his hand.

“You’re really not fucking funny.” Mickey sits on the edge of the bed, groaning as he feels everything. “Thing tomorrow. Day after?”

“My day off.”

“Gotcha.” Mickey leans forward to put on his shoes. Ian reaches out and rubs his fingers along the strip of skin on Mickey’s back where his shirt rides up.

“Could still meet up.” Ian grabs a pen off his nightstand and writes his phone number on the inside of Mickey’s forearm. “Call me.”

“Will do.” Mickey nods and hurries out, determined not to think about how nice it would have been to stay in bed with Ian. He manages to get a cab, and both his bodyguards are waiting for him when he bolts out of the car. “You’re late.”

“Fuck you, five minutes.”

Greg smirks at him. “Your prospective brides aren’t going to like you screwing around.”

“I’ve been sightseeing.” He starts walking, keeping an eye out for his dad, even though he’s not likely to be out walking the grounds. “I need one of you to buy me a pre-paid phone.”

“You have a phone.”

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey turns around and faces them. “Who’s in charge here?”

“Right, right.” Greg nods to Evan. “I’ll go. You get the little prince all dressed up.”

Mickey raises his eyebrows and flips him off. “If you went out and got laid, I hope you got fucking crabs.”


	3. Prince Charming

Mickey ends up calling Ian and leaving a message letting him know he has to bail on him. He doesn’t leave details, but he does apologize. He’s not sure how he’d find a non-ridiculous way to say ‘I have to go play golf with some asshole and his daughter because my dad thinks I need to have someone squeeze out a few kids’. At least one that doesn’t involve Ian knowing who he is. 

And Mickey likes Ian not knowing. Because Ian seems to like and _definitely_ wants Mickey. Not the prince. Not the rich dude. Not the guy who sat next to Beyonce at the one Presidential award concert thing. Okay, he’d actually be cool with Ian knowing the Beyonce thing, because that is pretty fucking awesome.

Instead he’s at some over-the-top country club, walking along the course because Audralina – and Mickey fucking _refuses_ to believe that’s her real name – doesn’t want to wear the golfing gloves because she just got a new manicure. Mickey’s pretty sure the act is for her dad’s benefit, because he rolls his eyes like she’s an adorable pet, and her eyes narrow. Still, Mickey’s not interested in helping her get back at her dad, and he’s very much not interested in her social media numbers and how she plans on having her own blog and establishing herself as a YouTube sensation.

Terry keeps glancing over though, so Mickey nods a lot and tries to look interested in what she’s saying rather than the way walking along the slopes of the golf course make him feel the stretch and ache from Ian fucking him. At least his smile makes everyone think he gives a shit about what Audralina’s saying. Or even listening. He’s far too busy trying to figure out when he can get free to see Ian again.

Apparently readily accessible dick is pretty fucking addictive.

Their dads finally make it to the eighteenth hole, but they still end up at the club house, forced to make small talk over drinks and fucking appetizers. It wouldn’t be so bad if Mickey didn’t have to stick with fucking seltzer water, which tastes like pine-scented air, because he has to look fucking cultured in front of prospective brides. He thinks he looks a hell of a lot more cultured with a fucking whiskey, but apparently that’s not going to happen.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out. It’s the pre-paid one, which means it’s Ian. Mickey bites back his smile and types in the password to unlock it. He opens the text and glances around the table before reading it.

_‘missing out.’_

_‘yeah?’_

The next text that comes through has a picture of Ian’s dick, hard and thick. Ian’s hand’s wrapped around the base, and the veins are dark in contrast to the flushed skin.

_‘fuck’_

_‘thats what im getting at’_

_‘you have no idea how fast id be there if I could’_

_‘your loss’_

“Mickey!”

Mickey’s head snaps up. “Sorry, Pops. Scheduling another business meeting.” That’s his father’s code word for these ridiculous dates, like every girl his father pushes him toward doesn’t know exactly what Mickey’s supposedly looking for.

“Good.” His dad’s smile is more of a smirk, and it’s laced with warning as he nods from Mickey to Audralina. Mickey nods in return and smiles at her. She seems oblivious, or is just as not into this as Mickey is, but her dad looks pissed. So much for impressing the potential in-laws. The fault there might lie more with Terry than Mickey though. Not that Mickey won’t bear the brunt of it even if that’s the case.

His phone buzzes again and he darts a quick look down. There’s another picture, this time of Ian’s spent dick and come splattered on his lower abdomen. Mickey swallows hard and shifts in his seat, attempting to find some relief. Another text comes on the heels of that one and Mickey opens it, both unsure of what he’ll find and turned on. 

_‘wish you were here’_

Mikey turns the phone off and shoves it in his jacket pocket. He drains his glass of water, nearly choking on the bubbles. His dad frowns at him. “Why don’t you and...she take a walk around the grounds.”

“We’re not finished eating.”

“Now.” 

Mickey gets up and moves behind Audralina’s chair quickly in an effort to hide his hard-on. He pulls it out for her and she stands up. She’s close enough that he can smell her perfume, and the flowery, cloying scent eases his erection enough that walking isn’t as much of a problem. They go through the large glass doors of the dining area to the gardens and Mickey immediately puts some distance between them. He hears the flick of a lighter and turns his head to see Audralina light a cigarette. She holds it out to him after a few puffs.

“Thanks.”

“Have a flask too.” She starts off away from the club and Mickey looks around then follows her. He debates with himself the entire walk if the promise of a drink is worth being off alone with her. He knows what can happen. Has seen it with all of his brothers, which is why Mickey’s in this fucking position in the first place.

She leads the way into a small gazebo in a stand of trees. Compared to the rest of the grounds, it’s run down, in bad shape. Audralina settles on one of the short benches and holds her hand out for the cigarette. Mickey gives it back to her and she inhales deeply before blowing out a series of smoke rings. She looks at Mickey and laughs at his reaction. “Works better with cigars for some reason.”

“Cigars smell like week-old ass.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She pulls a flask out of her purse and unscrews the lid. Licking her lips after taking a long sip, she holds it out to Mickey as he settles on the bench beside her.

“For the record, you try anything and you’ll end up with a face full of mace and wake up in a body cast.”

“I can already tell you’re a real fun date.”

“I am. When I’m out with my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend...that your dad doesn’t approve of?”

“No. Daddy likes him fine. He’s just not a prince.”

“The prince of a tiny flyspeck of a country.”

“Doesn’t matter. Princess always sounds better than Mrs. in front of your name. And queen, well...Dad would shit all over himself and eat it up if I got that.”

“Wow. That was graphic.”

“Says the guy talking about week-old ass. Let me tell you, I do not appreciate that visual.”

“Sorry.” Mickey takes a drink and sighs. “I fucking hate this dog and pony show. Paraded around like we’re some new specimen, and then my dad doing his best to whore me out like a prize for the woman whose Mom or Dad makes the best offer.”

“And what makes you think you’re a prize?”

“Oh, trust me. I don’t. Not even a little bit.”

Audralina laughs and snags the flask, trading it for the cigarette. “Your dad’s a real dick?”

“You met him, right?”

“Fair enough. So you don’t want to get married?”

“No,” Mickey answers immediately.

“Not now? Or not ever?”

Mickey notices her appraising look and shrugs. “Now. I mean who knows what the future’s going to bring? Maybe in five years we’ll be invaded by aliens or all become fucking robots.”

“Wow, so that’s a big ‘not ever’.” She stretches her legs out and rocks her feet from side to side on her heels. “So she’s completely inappropriate, huh?”

“She? She who?”

“The girl. The one you’re not allowed to marry. The one your dad’s so worried about you eloping with or impregnating.”

Mickey blows smoke out through his nose. “Nobody.”

“Bullshit.” She shakes her head, looking at Mickey skeptically. “He’s practically got you on the auction block. You’re like a fucking Craigslist ad in the old boy network. Which means you’re dropping your dipstick into something other than premium grade oil.”

Mickey raises his eyebrows. “I hope that wasn’t the version of the speech that means you're on my side or something.”

“Is she already pregnant? Are you here so the royal physician can take care of the little problem?”

“You’ve been reading some fucked up fairy tales, Cinderella.” Mickey kills the cigarette, tossing the butt into the wishing well in the center of the gazebo. “There’s no little mistake. No big one either. He just wants me to propagate the line so he can teach them all how to be just like them.”

“There’s a call for celibacy.” She takes another drink. “Didn't seem to make you like him.”

“He calls his own dad a pussy. Says it apparently power, ambition, and brains skip a generation.”

“Ouch.” 

“I’ve been told worse.” He exhales and tilts his head back, looking up at the shadows of the leaves through the holes in the roof. “Tell me about your boyfriend. If I don’t choose you as bachelorette number one, are you still going to be with him? Does he know that you’re comparing our relative values? That they’re likely going to look at our teeth and gums.”

“He says he gets it. Says he’ll wait.”

“But.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“What about you? Do you want to get married?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I think so? But is he _the_ guy? Do you know _the_ guy when you meet him?”

“Fuck if I know. I’ve never been _the_ guy.” Or met him, Mickey adds silently, though the image of Ian flashes in his head. 

“I want what I was talking about. The whole YouTube thing. It’s part of my business plan. I’m going to leverage my show into a gig. My own make-up brand, bags, brushes, tips. But it’s going to be fun stuff. Not the traditional ‘make yourself beautiful for your man’ bullshit. More of a ‘be your own kind of beautiful’.”

Mickey nods and steals the flask. “I like that.”

“Maybe you should be one of my investors then.”

“Well, if you’re good at what you do and what you work with, you should write up a proposal and submit it to me.”

“Even if I’m not your Princess Charming?”

“Never let emotional or traditionally emotional events bias your judgment regarding business.” Mickey scoffs. “My dad’s hard and fast rule unless it has to do with someone’s family background, gender, race or sexuality. If anything violates those, well...”

“You’re seriously selling him as a father-in-law.”

“Well, any of the girls he’s vetted for me won’t have a red mark in any column.”

She lights another cigarette and inhales, keeping her eyes closed as she blows out smoke. “How many of these dates do you have scheduled?”

“Eight. Some of them told me in absolutely no circumstances do I assume the young lady is there of her own volition. Looking but no touching, and a few of them are off the market completely, but Daddy probably doesn’t know.”

“So...what? About half?”

“Probably, unless they’re bowled over by my good looks and scintillating personality.”

“Give me their names and I’ll give you the real behind-the-scenes scoop.” 

Mickey’s eyebrow shoots up. “Planning to undermine the competition?”

“Trying to keep you from Marjorie Bellingham’s clutches. Because I wouldn’t sic her on my worst enemy, and I figure I don’t hate you.”

They laugh when they both say, “Yet.”

Mickey stands up and offers her his hand. “Should probably go back inside and make sure they haven’t already hammered out a deal and are just waiting for our signatures.”

**

Terry slaps Mickey on the shoulder as they head to the valet parking. “Did you fuck her?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Sometimes I wonder.” Terry climbs in the car and leans across to lock the passenger door. He roll the window down. “Make your own way home. Because the girl ends up pregnant, no matter who fucks her, you’re going to end up being the father. You don’t fucking disappear, you stupid fuck.”

“Dad.”

“Are you _anything_ besides a fuck-up? Because I’m beginning to doubt it.” Terry revs the engine and Mickey barely manages to step back in time as his father pops the clutch and takes off.

Mickey rubs his forehead with his thumb and two fingers, taking slow breaths. The valet comes up to him and Mickey can hear the amusement in his voice. Dude’s going to end up fired if he does that to everyone. “Cab, your highness?”

Mickey looks at him, trying to see how much of a punchline he thinks Mickey actually is. Mickey’s seen the type. Hell, Mickey would probably be the type if he’d been born anywhere else. “No thanks. Need to clear my head.” He walks off down the driveway, hands shoved in his pockets. He wraps his hand around the cell phone. He should use the official phone and call his bodyguards. Stay on the grounds and wait for a ride. Instead he pulls out the prepaid one and stares at the picture of Ian’s abdomen splattered with come. He’s getting hard just looking at it. He sends the text before he can think.

_’you busy?’_

_‘homework why?’_

_‘got the night off unexpectedly’_

_‘booty call?’_

_‘could come over and quiz you’_

_‘rather fuck’_

_‘whats your address?’_

Ian texts it to him, and Mickey uses the real phone to map it out. He gets away from the club before he calls a cab then waits for his ride. He gives an address not too far from Ian’s, jogging the short distance to the apartment. Ian opens the door at Mickey’s knock, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers.

Ian looks Mickey over. Mickey realizes he’s a hell of a lot more dressed up than he usually is. “Stripper convention end early?”

“Something like that.” Mickey pinches his lower lip between his fingers. “Wanna fuck?”

“Yeah.” Ian grabs Mickey’s wrist and pulls him inside, shutting the door behind him. Mickey moves into him, his hands splaying across Ian’s chest. He pushes Ian back toward the chair. Ian resists just enough to let Mickey know he’s not giving in easily, though he goes backwards without too much of a fight. “Or was that a rhetorical question?”

“Do people kiss you just to shut you up?” Mickey rubs his thumbs over Ian’s nipples, grinning at the rough sound Ian makes. He does it again then slides his hands down Ian’s sides, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Ian’s boxers and guiding them over his dick, off his hips.

“Sometimes.”

“Should put your mouth to work on my dick.” Mickey pushes Ian hard and Ian sits down with a surprised breath. It doesn’t take him long to start undoing Mickey’s belt, his fly. His hands are rough as he pushes everything down Mickey’s thighs all in one go, and Mickey groans in response.

He groans again when Ian takes him in his mouth, sucking just the right side of too hard. Mickey rubs his hand over Ian’s head, mussing his hair. Ian sucks harder and Mickey bites his lip to keep from crying out.

Ian rubs his hands up the back of Mickey’s thighs to his ass and squeezes it, pulling the cheeks apart. Mickey’s fingers fist in Ian’s hair as Ian sucks him deep, fingers ghosting over Mickey’s hole. Mickey’s hips jerk forward then he pulls back, making Ian follow him, chase him. Ian tightens his grip on Mickey’s ass and pulls him back in.

Clenching his fist, Mickey tugs Ian’s head back. “Where’s the shit?”

Ian nods toward the bed, and Mickey’s grateful for the tiny apartment. He kicks his shoes and pants off as he takes the few steps over to grab the lube and condoms. He tosses them back to Ian.

“Get ready.”

“Isn’t that my line?”

Mickey comes back over and straddles Ian’s thighs, knees barely on the seat of the chair. “Stop talking, or I’ll just jerk myself off.”

“Punishing yourself is going to show me, huh?” Ian opens the condom and rolls it on. He pinches the end and lets it snap. Mickey stares at Ian’s hands, licking his lips. “I mean, if you’d rather your hand than my dick...” Mickey cuts Ian off, shoving two fingers in his mouth. Ian laughs around them then sucks at them like he’d sucked Mickey’s dick.

Ian uncaps the lube while he sucks, stroking a palm full of the liquid along his dick, over the head. Mickey frees his fingers with a wet smack and reaches back, pushing them inside. Ian groans and grabs Mickey’s hips with slick hands and pulls him forward.

“Get on me,” Ian grows. He lets go of Mickey’s hips so he can grab his dick and rub it against Mickey’s hole. He rolls his hips up as Mickey sinks down. Mickey gasps as Ian pushes into him, reaching out to grab Ian’s shoulders. As soon as he has a tight grip, he rises up before sinking down, eyes caught on Ian’s.

Ian’s hands rub Mickey’s hips in slow circles, thumbs anchored against Mickey’s stomach. Mickey’s chest rises and falls in time with his body, and he relishes the thick hardness of Ian inside him, taking his time.

“Christ,” Ian chokes. He stops drawing on Mickey’s skin and digs quarter moons into Mickey’s hips, urging him faster. “C’mon.”

“More?” Mickey pants as he rises up, his ass squeezing Ian’s dick. “Huh?”

“Isn’t that what...Christ, what you want?”

“Taking all of you already.” Mickey knows he’s leaving bruises on Ian’s shoulders, his thumbs doing the same to Ian’s collarbone. “What more you got?”

Ian thrusts up just as Mickey sinks down. Mickey groans low, feeling Ian’s thighs tense beneath him. Ian laughs roughly. “That.”

Mickey nods jerkily and starts riding Ian faster, harder. Ian matches him, rocking up just as roughly, fucking up into Mickey. Mickey closes his eyes, just feeling the thick stretch and burn of Ian’s dick.

“So fucking hot,” Ian whispers, sliding his hands under Mickey’s shirt, up his spine. “So tight.” He leans in so he can run his tongue up the length of Mickey’s throat. Mickey’s knees dig into Ian’s thighs as he tilts his head, giving Ian better access to his neck. Mickey changes the pace, slows it down so he doesn’t lose the feel of Ian’s tongue on his skin. 

Ian slows down to fall into rhythm with Mickey as he grinds down. Ian licks and scrapes his teeth against Mickey’s neck, tracing the collar of his shirt with his tongue. Mickey moves his hands from Ian’s shoulders to his throat, thumbs under Ian’s jaw, forcing his head up. “Don’t get mouthy.” Mickey’s voice is rough, hungry. “Just...focus on this.”

“This?” Ian sounds just as wrecked.

Mickey clenches around him, keeping his body tight as he pulls up, as he sinks down. Ian moans thickly and surges forward, mouth finding Mickey’s. Mickey sucks in a breath and then he’s kissing Ian back, tongue against tongue, sliding and tasting, stroking and exploring.

Ian wraps his arm around Mickey’s waist and holds him, pushing up inside him, taking over with hard thrusts and tight thighs. Mickey moans into Ian’s mouth and starts riding him in earnest, the stroke of Ian’s cock shoving up into his ass matching the rhythm of his tongue in Mickey’s mouth.

Ian pulls back from the kiss, catching Mickey’s lower lip with his teeth, sucking on it as he jerks up hard, muscles tense until his whole body shudders with his orgasm and the tension is gone, uncoiling in a rush of hot pressure in Mickey’s ass.

Mickey kisses Ian then, sucking his own desperation off Ian’s tongue. He reaches down for his dick, but Ian’s hand is already there, jerking Mickey in his tight fist. It’s not so much kissing as open-mouthed panting when Mickey comes, splattering them both.

Ian’s forehead presses against Mickey’s and all Mickey can taste is Ian’s breath. “Told you I wished you were here.”

“Ruined my shirt.”

“Could have gotten naked.” Ian presses a kiss to the tip of Mickey’s nose then bites it lightly. “Staying? Crash here and I’ll wake you up with something better than pancakes.”

“French toast? Omelet?” Mickey should get off Ian’s lap, let him deal with the condom, the mess.

“Sure. Or my tongue in your ass. Or my fist. Maybe just my dick buried balls deep.” Ian laughs softly at each hitch of Mickey’s breath. “Or, you know, I’ll make you a nice bowl of cereal so long as you don’t want milk with it.”

Mickey groans, eyes closing when Ian kisses him. Mickey’s got no clue how he went from no kissing at all to the need to have Ian’s tongue lost in his mouth, to taste the air Ian’s breathing. “Pretty sure that, given those options, breakfast is going to be really fucking low on the list.”

“Gotta eat to keep up your strength.”

“Mmm.” Mickey raises up onto his knees, biting his lower lip as Ian slips out of him. “Have to get back.”

“Stay.” Ian runs his hands up and down Mickey’s thighs, not letting him slip off the chair.

“Can’t.” Mickey pushes against Ian’s grip and stands up. He has to grab Ian’s shoulder for balance before he can take a step back. “You’re bad for my knees.”

“But really really good for other parts of you.”

“Yeah.” Mickey laughs as Ian grabs his wrist and pulls him back, settling Mickey on his lap. He nuzzles Mickey’s throat, placing a whisper of a kiss in the damp hollow under Mickey’s ear. 

“Stay.”

Mickey’s not sure he’s ever been this tempted, but if he doesn’t come home, Terry will do worse than kill him. It’s going to be bad enough that he didn’t immediately call his bodyguards for a ride. “I can’t, Ian.”

“Are you married?”

“What?”

Ian shakes his head and laughs sadly. “Fuck. You’re married. What is it? Is there like...I don’t know, a sign on me or something? A target. Hey, all married men who are actually gay, come find me. Ian Gallagher, best mistress with a dick.”

“You’re sleeping with married guys?”

“No. I mean, other than you, apparently.”

“I’m not married. I promise.” Mickey looks him in the eye. “I mean it.”

Ian sniffs and blows out a breath, his bangs dancing in the air. “Okay.”

“I have to go.” Mickey traces Ian’s jaw and then leans in, closing his eyes and kissing him. Mickey’s never believed in kissing. It was all the bullshit in fairy tales that his mom used to read to him when he was a kid. Stories about princes who were the kind of guy she wanted Mickey to be. Kissing was for love and romance and forever. Kissing isn’t for people who don’t follow the fairy tales. Or are fairies.

But kissing Ian feels right. Natural. Like something Mickey wants to do and could keep doing for hours. Days. He pulls back just enough and opens his eyes, watching as Ian’s pale lashes flutter against his cheeks. He looks at Mickey, green irises barely visible behind his blown pupils. He fingers a button on Mickey’s shirt. “What are you so afraid I’m going to see?”

“I don’t know.” Mickey gets up and grabs his pants and boxers. “More than you bargained for, maybe.”

**

Mickey lets himself into the house and heads upstairs, careful in the darkness. He’s halfway up to the second floor when the lights come on. Terry’s at the foot of the stairs, wearing his bathrobe, smacking his belt against the palm of his hand. 

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t have to. Mickey heads down toward him and toward the gym, glad it goes dark so Terry doesn’t see him flinch when he kills the lights.


	4. Prince and the Pea

Mickey groans as he rolls over in the bed. Everything hurts. His dad uses the belt as a symbol, but the punishment is always a different kind of fight. He gives Mickey a chance, but he outweighs him and his reach exceeds Mickey’s, so Mickey can usually only get one or two good hits in before he’s on the floor. There are usually bruises, but nothing too suspicious unless you look closely. Know what to look for.

Fortunately – at least on one hand – the next three days are filled with dates with potential brides, and the odds of him taking his clothes off are non-existent. And the pain doesn’t stop him from going to see Ian, showing up at the diner and drinking coffee during the morning rush with nothing to do but admire Ian’s ass.

“You’re busy.”

“My coworker called in hungover and non-functional. Just me for the next few hours.” Ian shrugs as he refills Mickey’s cup. “Gotta run.”

Mickey watches for a little while longer then gets up while Ian’s in the middle of taking an order. He goes behind the counter and grabs the coffee pot, going around and refilling cups. Ian turns around to take the order to the kitchen and frowns at Mickey. 

“What are you doing?”

Mickey shrugs. “Helping.”

“Why?”

“Because, you’re swamped and I’m not doing anything else.” He smiles at Ian. “Don’t think I can fuck up pouring coffee.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Gallagher?” Mickey lifts his eyebrows, waiting. His mouth is curved upward with the hint of a smile. “Say thank you.”

Ian blushes and beams his full, ridiculous smile at him. “Thanks.”

Mickey walks off, refilling coffees. He knows Ian keeps looking over at him, but he ignores him. It’s nice to know that Ian’s looking at him with appreciation, not waiting for him to make a mistake. After he finishes refilling the cups, he picks up a bin and starts clearing dirty dishes and wiping down tables. He wouldn’t say it’s _fun_ , but it’s nice to weave and move around Ian, brushing against each other occasionally. 

The rush finally dies down and Mickey knows he needs to go so he doesn’t miss his mandated activity. He sits on one of the stools by the counter and just watches Ian with the last few customers still lingering. He’s striking with the sun coming in through the window and lighting up his red hair and dazzling smile. But more than that he’s beautiful. His body is fucking god-like, sure, but he’s also so genuinely fucking _nice_. It’s hard to believe he’s real. Even harder to believe he gives Mickey the time of day, never mind the amazing, ass-pounding fun sex without knowing who or what he really is.

“Hey.” Ian comes over and sits on the stool next to Mickey’s. “You’re amazing.”

“Bullshit.” Mickey can feel the hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“You are. I mean, you didn’t have to do that.” He leans over and bumps Mickey’s shoulder with his. “I can’t think of anyone else who would have done that.”

“Well, if I didn’t, your ass would have been too exhausted to pound me into the floor.” Mickey grins, looking at Ian out of the corner of his eye. “Purely selfish, man.”

“Nah.” Ian reaches out and runs two fingertips down Mickey’s bicep. “Got treated to a gun show.”

“Shit, Ian. Your muscles have bigger muscles than I’ve got.”

The door opens before Ian can say anything, and a group of people come in. Mickey sighs and slides off his stool. Ian follows suit and starts for the door.

“Hold up.” Mickey grabs Ian’s arm lightly. “I have to cut out. You free day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah. After two though. I have classes in the morning.”

“Meet you at the school if you text me the address.”

“Okay. But...don’t go just yet? Give me a couple of minutes to get them settled?”

Mickey knows he’s already cutting it close, but he nods anyway. “Yeah.”

“Wait in the kitchen, okay?”

Mickey nods again, slipping behind the counter to wait for Ian. Something hot and frantic takes up residence in his stomach, and his dick’s half-hard by the time Ian comes around the corner. Ian doesn’t even pause, pushing Mickey hard against the wall and kissing him. Mickey moans into Ian’s mouth, grabbing his hips and pulling him closer. Ian sucks on Mickey’s tongue, owning his mouth.

Ian pulls back too soon, and he’s breathing just as hard as Mickey. His eyes are dark and Mickey’s torn between wanting to sink to his knees and wanting to bend over. “Fuck,” Mickey groans. “Wish I could see you tonight. Hell, wish I could fucking stay here right now.”

“Spend the night.” Ian’s voice is soft, pleading. “Please.”

“I’ll try. I can’t promise.” Mickey moves closer and bites Ian’s lower lip and sucks on it. “I’ll try.”

Ian nods. “We both have to go.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you tonight. Late?”

Ian nods and kisses Mickey again, hard. “Okay, now go before I fuck you right here.”

Mickey groans at both Ian’s words and from him pulling back. “Fuck, that’s not the way to get me to _leave_.” He pushes off the wall and heads out the back door carefully avoiding touching Ian so he doesn’t say ‘fuck it’ and mount him like a dog in heat. There’s no way he’s walking out through the restaurant sporting the hard-on he’s got going. He feels sorry for Ian, but at least he’s got an apron to help hide it. Of course, he’s also got a huge fucking cock to hide, and the apron isn’t actually all that big.

**

He gets back to the house and meets his bodyguards in the usual spot. Mickey tosses each of them a bag with a cinnamon roll from the diner. 

“Wow. Presents,” Greg says. “We must have been very good boys.”

Evan laughs. “Or Mickey was a very bad one.”

Mickey flips them off. “Come on. I’ve got another fucking date tonight.”

“We should all be so in demand.” Evan looks over at Greg. “I haven’t had a date in six months because of his ass.”

“Sorry they see me and realize you’re not worth their time.” Mickey heads toward the house. “Fuck, can’t one of you pretend to be me and go out with this girl?”

“Neither of us are short enough or ugly enough to pass as you.”

“You know I can have your ass fired, right?” Mickey glances back at them. “You are aware.”

“Trust me, your dad can’t get anyone else to take you on.” Greg raises his eyebrows. “You’ve got quite the reputation, your highness.”

“Fuck off with that, asshole.” Mickey goes up the stairs between the two of them. They cut through his room to their own and Mickey stops at the bed where there’s an outfit laid out for him. Mickey sighs.

“Your dad’s getting antsy, you know. Wants to get home. Make sure no one steals the kingdom out from under him.”

“No one’s keeping him here.” Mickey’s stomach clenches with the sudden thought of never seeing Ian again. The fact that he’s even freaking out about the thought makes his chest ache and makes it hard to breathe.

“Yeah, well, he’s not leaving you here alone. He wants you to wed and bed someone ASAP. He wants an heir.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill my brothers. Why they couldn’t keep their dicks in their pants...”

“Not like you’re doing anything with yours. Might as well use it to sire the future king.” Evan shrugs. “Lots of guys would love to be in your position. Not all of us are as fucking lucky.”

“I know.” Mickey sighs. “It’s just not what I want.” He picks up the shirt, a light gray that someone probably thinks will bring out his eyes. “Not that what I want fucking matters. Go eat. I’m going to shower and change.”

“You’re not going to bolt, are you?”

Mickey shakes his head. He can still feel the pain from the rounds he’d gone with his father now that he’s not concentrating on anything else, now that the pain killers he’d washed down are starting to wear off. “I’ll be a good boy.”

“You’ve _never_ been a good boy.”

Mickey laughs. “Okay, you’re right about that.” He heads to the bathroom and turns on the water, moving underneath the spray as it heats up. He groans as the water pounds on the sore muscles of his back and the hard spray is both painful and perfect. He closes his eyes, one hand braced on the wall and the other palming his cock, his thoughts on Ian. It doesn’t take him long to get hard. He replays the kiss in his head, remembering the press of Ian’s body.

Mickey bites his lower lip, keeping the low and hungry sound from escaping. He wants the night over, this stupid farce of dating, of pretending to care. He should just pick one and be done with it, but that means being done with Ian and the hard pulse of his dick as he sinks to his knees so he can finger himself, imagining Ian’s fingers and tongue and cock, tells him he’s not ready to do that. Mickey gets three fingers deep, jerking hard on his dick, sucking in a deep breath as he comes, Ian’s name on his lips.

He kneels there for a few minutes before getting to his feet and rinsing off. His body feels too sensitive, the towel scraping against his skin. He fixes his hair and gets dressed. Checking his phone to see who he’s going out with, he tries to picture Rebecca, but nothing comes to mind. He looks at himself in the mirror then digs out the prepaid phone from between his mattresses. He takes a picture in the full-length mirror and sends it to Ian, shutting off and hiding the phone before he gets a response so he won’t lose track of time, get lost in Ian.

Rebecca ends up being a leggy brunette. Mickey knows that, objectively, she’s attractive, and he knows his dad would be falling all over himself about how the kids would have dark hair and blue eyes like true Milkovichs. Mickey manages a smile when she slides into the car. She looks him over and smiles in back. “You’re cuter than I expected. I figured with this whole campaign to get you a bride, you’d be ugly enough that no one would want you for any other reason than taking over the kingdom. How come I never see pictures of you?”

“I’m not real big on the paparazzi.”

“But you’re good looking. And, you know.” She runs her fingers over his arm, squeezes his bicep. “Built.”

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Your dad’s been talking with my dad all week. I think we’re a sure thing.”

“We’re a what?” Mickey shakes his head. “No way. If I’m getting married then I’m picking the bride.”

“You getting married is a business transaction, just like it is for me. You’re an idiot if you think otherwise. My dad’s got his fingers in a lot of pies, and your dad is practically drooling for a piece.” Rebecca shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine. I’m not looking to fall in love here. It’s just business.”

Mikey takes a deep breath and blows it out. “So why are we even bothering with this?”

“I wanted to meet the guy I’m spending the rest of my life with to make sure you’re not a douche.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Well, so far you’re not a _complete_ douche. You’ve got potential.”

“Jesus. What a great basis for a marriage. He’s not a complete douche and she’s not a raving bitch.”

“That’s just a bonus. The basis of this marriage is your kingdom and my dad’s oil and tech holdings.” She shrugs. “Smile. I promise it’s not all that bad. And making it’s not like either of us is going to have to wear a bag over our head when we fuck.”

“It’s not that. It’s...”

She reaches over and puts her hand on his thigh. It goes against every instinct Mickey has not to jerk away from her touch. He doesn’t move at all, his muscles tensing beneath her hand. “It’ll be fine. We’ll pop out a few kids, secure the family lineage, and everyone’s happy.”

“Yeah. So.” His thigh twitches and she smiles, sliding her hand higher. 

“So.” She leans closer, fingers grazing across Mickey’s crotch. “Since it’s pretty much a done deal...”

Mickey bites his lips and grabs her wrist carefully, easing her hand away. “Pretty much a done deal and an actual done deal are two completely different things. Let’s just get through dinner.”

“And here I thought I was supposed to play hard to get.”

“I don’t think any single one of you has played hard to get.” Mickey sighs. “Besides, I’m all about fucking with stereotypes.” He shrugs and looks out the window. “My brothers aren’t the ones sitting here right now because they mistook ‘pretty much’ for the real thing. I’m a hell of a lot smarter than they are.”

“Maybe I’m just not irresistible enough.” She twists her wrist to grab his hand and presses it between her legs, his fingers against her underwear as she traps him with her thighs.

“What the fuck?” Mickey tries to pull his hand back, but between her grip on his wrist and her thighs, he’s effectively trapped if he doesn’t want to hurt her. “Rebecca.”

“I’m starting to think you don’t like me, Mickey.”

“I like you just fine.” He tugs his hand again, but her thighs are toned and strong. “Shit. Just...just let me go, okay?”

“You’re going to make sure we’re a done deal. Understood?” She slides her hand from his wrist to the back of his hand, pressing his fingers harder against her damp panties. Her voice doesn’t brook any argument. “Understood?”

Mickey nods, finally able to jerk his hand away. “Christ. You’re some kind of fucking psycho.”

Rebecca settles back against the seat. “Now now. Is that any way to talk to your bride to be?”

Mickey slumps back against the seat and looks at her self-satisfied grin. Rubbing his eyes doesn’t alleviate the headache building behind them. He wants the night over. More accurately, he wants the night to never have begun.

Fortunately she behaves herself through dinner, though there are more cameras flashing in his face than normal, so he’s blinded. He’s also pretty sure that either Rebecca or one of her parents called the press. Fortunately they tend to focus on her, so Mickey has some chance to keep his face out of most of the shots. He’s fairly certain that Ian doesn’t read the society pages, but he’d rather not take the chance. 

Rebecca leaves him alone the rest of the night once the cameras are gone, and when they drop her off, he walks her to the door of her building because if nothing else, he’s learned to be a fucking gentleman. When they get to the door she pulls him in before he can say anything or move away, kissing him hard and possessive. Mickey steels himself as her tongue thrusts into his mouth. He’s done this before, keeping up appearances, but it’s never been this hard to take.

Of course, he’s never had Ian before.

Fuck.

She pulls back, a smirk on her face. “Don’t forget. We’re a done deal.” She taps him on the lips. “And I’ll let you lead in bed from time to time. Promise.”

She disappears into the building and Mickey rubs his face with both hands as he walks back to the car. He sinks into the plush leather seats and closes his eyes as soon as he shuts the door. He doesn’t look at the driver, doesn’t want to see anyone. “Take me the fuck home, please.”

**

He gets the prepaid phone out of its hiding place and tosses it onto the bed before stripping down to his boxers. He lays sprawled on the mattress and unlocks the phone. There’s a text from Ian responding to Mickey’s picture.

‘get over here and let me fuck you’

Mickey bites his lower lip hard, telling himself to stay in bed. He takes a deep breath before replying. ‘you awake?”

The phone rings almost immediately. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Just Ian’s voice, low and husky, thick from sleep, is enough to get Mickey’s cock hard. “How’s it going?”

“Be better if you were here.” Ian laughs softly. “What are you wearing?”

Mickey echoes his laugh. “Boxers. You?”

“Was waiting for you. ‘m not wearing anything.”

“Fuck,” Mickey groans. His fingers graze his lower abdomen, sliding against the triangle of hair that disappears into his boxers. “You’re killing me.”

“Cock’s so hard for you. Been thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Yeah? Sucking you?”

“Mmm. Lay on the bed, me on top of you. Fuck you with my tongue and my fingers while you’re sucking me.”

Mickey’s breath hitches. “Ian.”

“You want my tongue inside you? Licking and sucking that tight hole, Mickey? Tasting you? Eating your ass?”

Mickey whimpers, wrapping his hand around his dick. “Yeah.” He bites his lower lip hard, tasting blood. “Fuck, yes.”

“Your ass taste as good as your cock? Which should I swallow down first? Suck your dick until you come down my throat then fuck you with my tongue? Or should I eat you out before I suck you off?”

“Don’t...fuck. Don’t care. Just...just want your mouth on me. In me.” Mickey’s trying to go slow, to last for Ian, but just talking about this is making his cock ache with the need to come.

“What about you? You gonna lube up your fingers and fuck me?”

Mickey groans. “F-fuck. Fuck this. I’m c-coming over.” He’s pretty sure this is the worst idea he’s had in a while, and the residual pain reminds him of that. He doesn’t give a shit though when the alternative is Ian. “‘m coming over. Give me a half-hour. W-wait for me?”

It’s Ian’s turn to groan. “Yeah. Just fucking hurry.” 

Mickey squeezes the base of his cock hard then flicks the end of it in an effort to get rid of his hard-on. It works slightly, but not enough, and even the slight pressure from his dress slacks is almost too much. He wears the same clothes from his date and sneaks out of the house, off the property. He’s several blocks away before he feels safe enough to catch a cab.

His erection has mostly subsided by the time he gets to Ian’s, but his brain keeps playing Ian’s words over and over and so he’s still having something of a problem. Ian yanks open the door just as Mickey knocks. He’s naked and doesn’t waste time as he jerks Mickey inside and shoves him back against the door, mouth hard and hungry, devouring. Ian starts undoing Mickey’s slacks, pushing them down as Mickey steps out of his shoes.

“You look so fucking hot,” Ian murmurs against Mickey’s mouth. “Jerked off earlier looking at your picture, wanting to strip you out of this.”

Mickey kisses Ian, pushing against the door so he can get closer. “Let’s get on the fucking bed.”

Ian bites Mickey’s lower lip, unbuttoning Mickey’s shirt as they start walking toward the bed, Ian moving backwards. Mickey’s fingers dig into Ian’s hips to keep them close. He and Ian trade off biting, licking into each other’s mouths. Ian finally gets Mickey’s shirt undone, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms. Mickey shrugs instinctively, trying to get it back on, but Ian’s insistent, tugging at the fabric until Mickey gives up and moves his hands off Ian’s hips to let it fall to the floor.

Ian gets on the bed, walking backwards on his knees, tugging Mickey after him. Mickey goes easily, kneeling in front of Ian, still kissing him hard. Once they’re both on the bed, Ian does as he promised and guides Mickey down onto the mattress.

“Lube.” Mickey nuzzles Ian’s throat and then bites, sucking hard over the teeth marks. Ian huffs a rough breath against Mickey’s hair as he reaches over and fumbles for the lube. He shoves it into Mickey’s hand then pins him down, kissing him possessively. It’s nothing like Rebecca’s kiss. Ian feels warm and right. “Fuck.” He’s not sure if it’s sensory overload or just the realization of how fucking gone he is on Ian that overwhelms him.

Ian pulls back and straddles Mickey. Mickey’s dick is pressed to the crack of Ian’s ass. Ian’s chest is damp with sweat, rising and falling with every rough breath. He runs his fingers down Mickey’s chest, circling his nipples and then doing the same when he reaches the navel. “Don’t move.”

Mickey thrusts up, cock sliding against the smooth curve of Ian’s ass. “Sure?”

“If you want me to suck you.” Ian leans forward and kisses Mickey again before easing off of him. He follows the path his fingers just took with his mouth and trails hot, wet kisses down Mickey’s chest. He nuzzles the dark hair at the base of Mickey’s dick then continues the kisses up the hard length of his cock to the head, barely pausing before taking Mickey into his mouth.

Mickey’s head falls back onto the mattress as Ian grabs his ass hard enough that Mickey knows he’s going to have bruises. He tugs Ian’s waist to move him over him, then moans roughly against Ian’s dick before he guides it into his mouth. Ian’s hips jerk and Mickey’s mouth tightens around him. Ian sucks harder in turn, his nails biting into Mickey’s skin.

Managing to open the lube, Mickey gets some on his fingers and rubs them against Ian’s hole, slicking it up before pressing them harder against it. Ian’s body tenses and then tightens. Mickey swallows Ian deeper, throat constricting and cheeks hollow from the suction. As Ian makes a noise around him and the sound reverberates against Mickey’s dick, he presses one finger past the muscle, slowly working it inside Ian.

Mickey sucks harder as he pushes, keeping Ian’s mind focused on his dick rather than the pressure, than the initial shock waves of pain. Ian pulls off Mickey’s cock and gasps for breath, the sound changing pitch as Mickey pulls his finger back and then pushes it in again, slightly deeper.

“Christ, Mick.” Ian takes Mickey back in his mouth and sucks hard then pulls off again as Mickey starts building a rhythm. His breath is jerky, fanning over Mickey’s damp cock and balls, and then Ian shifts, Mickey’s dick settled against his neck as he presses closer, bending his head so he can slide his tongue across Mickey’s hole.

Mickey’s whole body shivers, arching off the mattress as Ian starts lapping at his skin, catching and teasing, the point of his tongue tracing the small circle of flesh. Mickey’s finger presses further inside Ian, working slowly but steadily inside him. Ian thrusts down hard into Mickey’s mouth, cock leaking precome down his throat.

Mickey closes his throat around Ian, tongue pressing his dick against the roof of Mickey’s mouth, sucking on him hard. Ian’s head falls forward slightly, and Mickey can feel his cock slide against Ian’s cheek, can feel the sticky trail of precome he leaves on Ian’s skin.

Ian’s hands slide beneath Mickey’s ass, cupping it and pulling the cheeks apart. He shifts his body forward slightly, the angle of his dick changing in Mickey’s mouth. He sucks and adjusts to the new position, though his mouth opens involuntarily as Ian’s tongue presses inside him. Ian licks and sucks, thrusting hard and deep, licking inside Mickey. It feels like every nerve ending is in Mickey’s ass, like Ian’s tongue is touching a live wire. 

He pushes another finger into Ian, working them in and apart and together. Ian’s mouth is hot and demanding against Mickey’s ass, sucking and licking and thrusting into him, pulling back just enough to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of Mickey’s thigh. Mickey’s cock jerks again and again, sliding against the wetness of Ian’s cheek. Mickey works in a third finger, curling them slightly. Ian’s whole body jerks and he comes.

Mickey swallows him down, sucking until Ian’s dick is spent. He keeps pressure on the bundle of nerves that has Ian trembling until Ian bites hard at Mickey’s inner thigh. He sucks the skin between his teeth and then moves off of Mickey. “Wh-” Mickey’s lips are swollen, his mouth numb. 

Ian moves between Mickey’s legs and shoves them wider apart before cupping Mickey’s ass and lifting it. Mickey fumbles for a pillow above his head and passes it down. Ian takes a moment to shove the pillow under Mickey and angle his hips up, and then his face is buried in Mickey’s crotch, his hand around Mickey’s dick and jerking the damp skin while his tongue flicks and licks and fucks Mickey’s hole.

“Fuck. God. Fuck, Ian.” Mickey’s voice is rough, his breathing raspy as Ian fucks and jerks him. His cock is wet from Ian’s strokes, precome slick and sticky all at once. Mickey presses his shoulders against the bed, ignoring the pain that’s been lingering at the edge of his consciousness and thrusts closer to Ian, meeting Ian’s tongue and wanting him deeper. “Fuck. Y-yes.”

Mickey’s too lost in the feeling of Ian’s tongue to realize how close his orgasm is until he’s coming all over Ian’s hand, his stomach, in Ian’s hair. He huffs out a surprised laugh that’s part moan. He starts to say something when Ian raises his head and looks him in the eye then licks the length of Mickey’s cock.

“Your cock then your ass then this.” Ian sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks Mickey’s come off of it. “Told you I was going to taste all of you.” He licks the head of Mickey’s cock and then uses his tongue to cut a swathe through the white liquid on Mickey’s stomach.

“Christ, Ian.” Mickey’s panting. His breath feels like it’s caught in his chest as Ian licks and kisses his way up, tongue tasting like come as he finally reaches Mickey’s mouth and fucks into it. When he pulls back, he’s braced over Mickey and smiling. Mickey starts laughing and Ian’s brow furrows.

“What?”

“I was just thinking you had a shit-eating grin on your face and I realized...”

Ian stares at him for a minute and then cracks up, burying his face against Mickey’s collar bone. His laughter is warm and sweet on Mickey’s skin, his body hot and sweaty as he lowers himself down onto Mickey. Mickey can feel Ian’s eyes close, feel the brush of his lashes against his skin. It feels good until it doesn’t, until the endorphins, adrenaline, and anticipation all dissipate.

Ian tenses slightly and lifts himself up. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just...”

Ian sits, straddling Mickey’s thighs and looks him over through narrowed eyes. “You’re not okay.”

“I am. I promise. Just...”

Ian gets off of Mickey and Mickey drags himself up to a sitting position. Ian sits behind him just slightly, leaning back against the wall. He reaches out and runs his fingers lightly down Mickey’s back. Mickey flinches away from the touch. “I expected scars.”

“What?”

He traces Mickey’s shoulder blade. “You’d never let me take off your shirt. I expected that you’d have hideous scars or something. Which is stupid, since I’ve _felt_ your back.”

“Nah. All my scars are on the inside.” He says it lightly, but it’s the truth, and he suspects Ian knows it.

Ian traces the bruises that are there, his fingers light. “Who does this to you?”

“Just my workout routine. Boxing, judo. That sort of thing.”

“Bullshit.” Ian presses against a bruise and Mickey sucks in a breath. “Who hurts you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Mickey climbs off the bed and goes to grab for his shirt. Ian catches his hand and shakes his head, pulling him back.

“Don’t.” He shakes his head and tugs Mickey onto the bed again. “Stay.”

Mickey glances at the clock. “A couple hours. Have to get home before daylight.”

Ian guides him back onto the bed, tugging Mickey close so his head is resting on Ian’s chest. “I’ll set the alarm.” He gets his phone and sets the alarm as promised then wraps Mickey up in his arms. “You’re really not married? I mean, I’m not sure I’d care at this point, but...”

“I’m not married.” Mickey tilts his head up and kisses him. 

“Is this why?” Ian runs his hand down Mickey’s back again, finding the bruises like he has the map of Mickey’s skin memorized.

“You suck at letting shit go, Ian.”

“Yeah. Kind of tenacious.”

Mickey snorts. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

Ian starts laughing against Mickey’s hair. “Literally.”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Ian kisses the top of his head. “You complaining?”

Mickey shakes his head and settles closer to Ian. “Nope.”


	5. two princes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this one's a little emotional and rough, you guys. I promise you a happy ending, so bear with me. :D

Mickey wakes up before the alarm goes off and sits up, staring down at Ian. He reaches over and brushes Ian’s hair back, hand sliding over Ian’s skull. “Shit,” he whispers to himself. If he was smart he’d get the hell out of Ian’s place and go home, stay the hell away, since this is something he absolutely cannot have. Even if he didn’t have the threat of a mutually advantageous wedding hanging over his head, his dad would kill him without a second thought if he knew or even suspected that Mickey’s gay.

“Ian?”

“Mm.” Ian turns his head and nuzzles Mickey’s palm. “Alarm go off?”

“No.” 

“Come back down here then.” Ian catches Mickey’s wrist and tugs him down for a kiss. Mickey groans, carefully holding his cigarette out of the way.

He pulls back slowly and shakes his head. “Gotta go.”

Ian pulls Mickey in again, fitting their mouths together. Mickey kisses him back, surrendering to the heat of Ian’s kiss. He fumbles to get his cigarette safely out of the way before settling on top of Ian. “Not yet,” Ian murmurs into Mickey’s mouth. “Stay.”

“Ian.” It’s more of a moan than a word. “I have to go.”

Ian winds his hands around Mickey’s neck, fingers buried in Mickey’s hair. The kiss deepens, Ian tasting every surface of Mickey’s mouth, licking and teasing with the tip of his tongue. Mickey pushes down against Ian and Ian wraps his leg over the back of both of Mickey’s. With a slow upward thrust, Ian shifts their momentum and rolls them over. Ian braces himself over Mickey and smiles. “Gonna fuck you again.”

Mickey rocks his hips up and Ian laughs, soft and low. He works his knee between Mickey’s legs and edges them apart. Mickey cants his hips up, grabbing a pillow and bracing his feel on the bed so he can shove it under his ass. Ian shifts back onto his knees and uses his hands, rubbing Mickey’s inner thighs and pushing them farther apart.

Mickey reaches for the condom with one hand and uses the other to swat Ian’s hand away when he reaches for the lube. “I’m ready. Just fuck me. Want you inside me.”

Ian works the condom on. Mickey spreads his legs even wider and Ian guides his dick to Mickey’s hole. One long, easy push and Ian’s inside him. Mickey groans and tugs Ian’s head down, taking over his mouth in a kiss. Ian starts moving, a few slow thrusts and then he’s pushing in hard, deep. Mickey matches Ian stroke for stroke, wrapping both legs around Ian and digging his heels into Ian’s ass.

“Fuck,” Mickey pants. “Fuck, Ian.”

“God, you feel so good. Your ass tight around me.” Ian buries his head against Mickey’s throat. His thrusts become short and hard, a steady rhythm as he licks and sucks the skin of Mickey’s neck. Mickey tightens his legs, needing Ian deeper, needing the friction on his dick caught between them. Ian is hot, sweat both slick and sticky between them.

Mickey fists one hand in Ian’s hair and the other runs up and down Ian’s spine. He can’t hear much past the pounding of blood in his ears, just the echo of his own voice, panting and begging Ian for more.

Ian bites hard at the junction of of Mickey’s throat and shoulder, causing Mickey to arch off the bed. Ian alters his rhythm, driving deeper into Mickey before bracing himself over him, setting a harder, faster pace.

“Mickey,” Ian groans and kisses Mickey even harder than the slap of their hips. It’s hot and bruising – tongues and teeth – and Mickey holds Ian’s head in his hands so they can’t pull apart. They’re both breathless and desperate, and their bodies collide more erratically the longer the kiss goes on.

Mickey’s not sure who comes first. The heat of Ian’s orgasm seems to fill him at the same time his own coats both of their stomachs. Mickey finally breaks the kiss and slumps back to the bed, chest heaving and his head light. He keeps his eyes closed and revels in the press of Ian’s weight.

When Mickey opens his eyes, Ian is looking down at him. His elbows are on either side of Mickey’s head and, like usual, he’s grinning like a fucking lunatic. Ian tilts his head slightly. “Alarm.”

“What?” Mickey responds instinctively, but he can already hear it, sound finally penetrating the afterglow. “Shit.”

It takes Ian what feels like forever and no time at all to ease off Mickey. He climbs off the bed as Ian disposes of the condom. He’s covered with sweat and come, and the urge to crawl back in bed with Ian is almost painful.

“Cool if I take a quick shower?”

Ian nods. He’s dropped back on the bed, splayed out, arms behind his head and a cocky grin on his face. “Sure.”

He stretches and Mickey watches the play of muscles beneath Ian’s pale skin.” Fuck, you’re an asshole.” Mickey grabs his clothes and hurries into the bathroom before he does something stupid. 

Stupider.

Fuck.

He takes the quickest shower possible, mostly just rinsing himself off. He dresses just as fast and walks out into the main room. Ian’s still in the bed, sheet draped over his stomach and thighs. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, his breathing even. Mickey’s not sure how long he stands there staring, but he manages to leave before the sun comes up.

**

Mandy’s sitting on Mickey’s bed when he gets home. Her eyebrow is up to her hairline and she watches as Mickey kicks off his shoes. “What’s her name? Or do you even know?”

“Fuck off.” Mickey drops down onto the bed, his hand on his chest, and closes his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be off being a skank somewhere?”

“That’s _royal_ skank, thank you very much. And it seems like you’ve got that covered. Dad’s going to fucking kill you if he catches you.”

“So just keep your fucking mouth shut.” He turns his head to look at her. He’s thought about telling her before, telling her the truth. He doesn’t think she’d care, but he’s not willing to take the chance. “I’m not doing anything to jeopardize Dad’s master plan. I just needed to get out.”

“Dad’s not going to give a single shit that you just want to get out. You know he only cares if you’re doing what you’re told, and you’re not.” She turns and lays on her stomach on the bed and faces him. “So. How was your date?”

“Scary as fuck.”

“Aw, are you scared of a pretty girl, Mick?”

“Pretty sure she wanted to have me for breakfast. And not in a good way.”

Mandy laughs. “Seriously?”

“I’d rather fight you and Dad at once than be alone in a room with that girl.” Mickey sighs. “Shit. They’re all just...”

“Not Mrs. Right?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“How many more potential candidates?”

“One. Then I have to make a decision of who I’m going to be subjected to for the rest of my life, or Dad’s going to make it for me, and from all the ones I’ve met so far, tonight’s barracuda would most likely be his first choice.” He rubs his face with his hands. “Fuck, Mands.”

“He wants an heir. A legitimate one. Not one of Iggy or Colin’s bastards.”

Mickey clenches his teeth and sighs through them, a low whistle filling the quiet. “I want to marry someone I actually give a shit about, you know? Someone who doesn’t care who I am.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that.”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“Mickey!” Mandy’s eyes narrow. “You’ve met someone.”

“How am I gonna meet someone? Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re the one being stupid. If they don’t know who you are, they’re not anyone that Dad’s going to approve of.”

“There isn’t anyone.”

“Mickey! Don’t be fucking stupid. I mean it.”

“I’m _not_. Trust me, I’m toeing the fucking party line. Misery assured.”

“Oh, come on.” Mandy sits up, crossing her legs. “One of them must have been nice.”

“Not particularly. The only one who was decent to hang around with doesn’t want to get married any more than I do. At least not to me.” He shakes his head, hair rasping on the comforter. “There were a couple that didn’t make me want to gouge my eyes out.”

“That’s something at least.”

“Yeah. Great basis for a marriage.” He turns his head and looks at Mandy, a weak smile on his face. “I don’t want to do this.”

“I know.”

“Come with the job, I guess.” He rubs his eyes. “Shit, I need sleep.”

“Breakfast event with Mom, remember?”

“Shit. Okay.” He cracks open an eye to look at her. “You won’t say anything, right?”

“Fuck you if you have to ask.”

“Thanks, Mandy,” he says with an honest smile.

“I can try to get you out of breakfast if you want.”

“Nah. I should be there. I actually feel bad when I let Mom down.”

Mandy pokes him in the stomach. “You’re a big softie.”

“Bullshit.”

“Mm-hm. Don’t think you can fool me. I know you too well.” She slides off the bed. “You could fall in love with them after you know them better. It doesn’t have to be awful.”

“I know. Thanks, Mandy.”

She slams her fist into his thigh. “Just remember I know everything, so don’t think you can fuck with me.”

He nods and flips her off as she leaves his room. Once she’s gone, he gets up and locks the door behind her. He pulls out his prepaid phone and texts Ian. 

_‘can’t make breakfast. tomorrow’s a wash. Day after?’_

_‘finals. day after that?”_

_‘hopefully. go back to sleep.’_

_‘night’_

Mickey hides the phone and lays back on the bed. He lasts about ten minutes before he pulls the phone out again, thumbing through the pictures of Ian as he opens his slacks so he can jerk himself off again, clenching his eyes closed as he comes and wishing Ian was still inside him.

**

Rebecca is at the breakfast, her gaze locked on Mickey. He can see both possessiveness and warning in her eyes. Audralina’s there as well, and she gives Mickey a genuine smile before disappearing into the crowd. Mickey and his brothers are the only guys there, so they leave as soon as they’ve said their hellos and been admired, letting the women have mimosas while they head inside to the bar.

“Mickey.” Rebecca comes up behind him and puts her hand on his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin through his dress shirt. “You’ve talked to your father?”

“No.”

Her hand tightens and the pressure of her nails increases. “Is that so?”

“I have another date tonight. He’s not going to listen to anything until I’ve met everyone. Just in case.”

“No one’s going to make a better offer for _you_.”

“Yeah, well. I know my dad. Anything less than full research is just settling.”

“I’m the one settling. You think you’re a catch?”

“Given that I’m heir to the throne? Yeah. I’m pretty sure I am.” He turns back to his drink, effectively ignoring her.

“You’ll regret this.”

“I already regret you.”

She storms off. Colin and Iggy high five each other then Mickey. “Dude. That was fucking epic. She’s going to hand you your balls in a fucking paper sack.”

“She’s not getting near my balls. Not now, not ever.”

“You sure you’re going to have a choice?”

Mickey sighs. “No.”

They drink for a few hours, listening to the women in the other room. They’ve learned how to pace themselves in public. Mickey has at least, and he’s the one being scrutinized, so by the time the last bit of gossip is exchanged, Mickey’s only buzzed. Given the way Rebecca’s still looking at him, he wishes he was falling down drunk so he could _tell_ her to stick her threats up her ass. Though the fact that his mom is talking to her makes Mickey more nervous than when she’d shoved her hand against his crotch.

His prepaid phone buzzes, and Mickey makes his way to the bathroom. There’s a text from Ian labeled ‘not safe for work’, so Mickey goes into a stall before opening the attached picture.

It’s a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate and maple syrup drizzled over it, and whipped cream surrounding it like a moat. There’s bacon bits crumbled over the whole thing.

_‘christ, Ian. you trying to kill me?’_

_‘just showing you what you’re missing.’_

_‘i know what i’m missing. can still feel you.’_

_‘not in a place where I can show you that particular breakfast dish’_

_‘keep it in your pants. for now’_

_‘see you soon hopefully’_

_‘soon as I can’_

Mickey puts the phone away, tucking it safely into the inside pocket of his jacket. His mom is saying her goodbyes and Mandy’s talking to far too many of the girls Mickey’s had dates with for him to feel comfortable. The fact that Rebecca isn’t one of them is somehow even more nerve wracking.

He heads to the car with Iggy and Colin after saying a general goodbye. There’s nothing else to drink in the car, which is probably for the best given how much he wants something. His brothers are both drunk, leaning against each other. He hates both of them for putting him in this position, even though he almost wishes he could fuck up like they did. Of course, that would put all of this on Mandy, and he doesn’t want to do that.

His mom and Mandy finally join them, and the driver takes them back to the house. Mickey’s dad is on the phone yelling at someone, most likely one of the advisers that’s in charge while they’re in Chicago. Terry sees Mickey as he walks by, covering the mouthpiece mid-yell to yell at Mickey instead.

“Get in here! And shut the door.”

Mickey takes a deep breath and does as he’s told, trying to stifle the sense of dread building in his chest. He sits across from his dad, glad of the big oak desk between them. His dad finally hangs up, slamming the phone down. He gets up and pours himself a drink before sitting back in the seat, watching Mickey over the rim of his glass.

“I’m tired of you fucking around.”

There’s no panic, because his dad wouldn’t give him any warning if he knew about Ian. “I’m not sure what you mean, Pops.”

“You’ve got two choices. Brightman or Kendall.” His dad thumbs through a file. “Tonight’s prospect isn’t worth the time. I want an answer by tonight. Before dinner.”

“Kendall.” Audralina was his first choice regardless. Even with knowing about her boyfriend, she was the only one Mickey could deal with, and they could easily work out an arrangement.

“Jesus. You’re a fucking pussy. Why? Because she was _nice_ to you? Did she tell you she could love you? You’ve got no balls kid, you need to find a woman with a fucking pair so you can have a kid that might actually run a fucking country someday.”

“Then why fucking ask?”

For someone his size, Terry moves faster than he should be able to. Before Mickey can react, Terry reaches across the desk and grabs Mickey’s shirt, hauling him up with one hand while his other fist rattles Mickey’s teeth, his brain. His dad shoves him back and down. Mickey catches the arms of the chair to keep from falling, pulling himself back onto the seat.

“Rebecca and her dad will be here tomorrow night to sign the pre-nups, and then we’ll get the fuck home this weekend.”

Mickey wants to argue, wants to fight, but there’s no way he can win against his dad. He rubs his jaw, using his tongue to probe his teeth at the gums. “Yes, sir.”

“Helga’s already started the plans. You fuck this up, and I’ll fucking kill you. Understood?”

Mickey nods. “We done?”

“Yeah, for now. Get the fuck out of here and send your bitch of a mother in.”

Mickey stands up and walks out of the study. His head is pounding and his mind racing. He gives his mom the message and ignores the look of apology and apprehension she gives him. She’s just as much Terry’s victim as any of them, but she learned a long time ago how to be the flat carpet under his feet rather than the wrinkle trying to trip him up.

Mickey locks his door behind him and leans against it. He knows he should just send Ian a text and break it off, or better yet just toss the phone and let Ian figure it out. Instead he stares at the keyboard before finally giving in.

_‘night opened up. busy?’_

_‘nothing I cant ditch’_

Mickey’s chest tightens with the need and want to see Ian and the knowledge that this will be the last time. He’s well and truly fucked in so many ways. _‘how soon?’_

_‘how soon can you be at the door?’_

_‘asap’._

**

He doesn’t bother changing. He texts both bodyguards and tells them to fuck off, that he’ll be home in the morning, that they need to learn to fucking lie. He doesn’t wait for a response, and he leaves his official phone on the bed. He doesn’t want the option of being distracted. If he can’t have anything else, he’s giving himself and the night wholly to Ian.

Ian’s waiting outside the diner. The cigarette smoke curls around his head before dissipating, and he blows out another breath of it as Mickey gets out of the cab.”

“Let’s go.”

Ian frowns and reaches out, fingers light, against the bruise blossoming on Mickey’s jaw. “You okay?”

Mickey turns his head and breathes against Ian’s palm. “Let’s go. Please.”

Ian nods and falls in step with Mickey. They walk toward the El, their hands brushing as they walk. Before they reach the station, Mickey shoves Ian beneath the tracks, pinning him to a concrete pylon and kissing him needy and desperate. He kisses hard, tongue fucking past Ian’s lips. Ian moans roughly, catching Mickey’s hips and bring him flush to his body.

“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey breathes, his voice close to breaking. He slides a hand between them to cup and squeeze Ian’s dick. “Now.”

“N-now?” Ian groans, arching away from the concrete as Mickey undoes Ian’s fly. “Oh shit, Mick.”

Ian fumbles to get Mickey free of his jeans while Mickey pushes Ian’s boxers out of the way. He starts stroking, but then Ian’s got Mickey’s dick out and his long fingers close around both of them, jerking them off together in the hot slide of skin on skin.

“Jesus,” Mickey breathes roughly. Ian’s knees are bent slightly so they’re the same height, and Mickey’s bracketed by Ian’s legs. He kisses Ian hard again as he tries to get closer, get more. “Ian. Y-yeah. Yes.”

Ian moans into Mickey’s mouth as his hips hitch, letting Mickey know Ian’s as close as he is. Sliding his hand up their shafts, Ian concentrates on the sensitive heads, and Mickey bites Ian’s lower lip hard as he comes. A few more strokes and Ian spills over them too, his forehead against Mickey’s as he pants for air. Ian shifts and tilts his head so he can kiss Mickey again. “Christ. Let’s get back to my place. So much I want to do to you.” He eases away from Mickey and wipes his hand on the grass as Mickey does up his jeans. Ian does up his own, his eyes hot on Mickey.

“The fuck are you looking at?” There’s no heat in Mickey’s voice. It’s a pure defense mechanism, more bark than bite.

“Going to eat you out. Fist you then fuck you. Tie you up and suck you down. Gonna make you beg.”

Ian’s voice is pure sex, full of promise that shoots like lightning down Mickey’s spine. He kisses Ian hard and Ian’s hands slide up Mickey’s back possessively. Mickey whimpers into Ian’s mouth, unable to help himself, and tries to get even closer. “God, please.”

Ian nods toward the station, and they get on the train. Mickey stands away from Ian, knowing that if he’s close, he’ll touch him. Know that he’s running out of chances, running out of time. Knowing that after this, he won’t have another chance to be himself, be free.

Ian stands across from him, his eyes burning as they move over Mickey’s body just as possessively as his hands had. Mickey’s having a hard time breathing in response, and when they finally reach Ian’s stop they both walk quickly, careful not to touch, not to talk. It feels precarious, like Mickey’s teetering at a cliff’s edge.

Ian unlocks his door and grabs Mickey’s wrist, jerking him inside. He feels Ian’s grip like a brand, and it’s an eternity before Ian has him pinned to the door, before he devours Mickey’s mouth like he’s starving.

Mickey grabs Ian’s shirt and jerks it up, only breaking their kiss for as long as it takes to get it past Ian’s mouth. Ian unbuttons Mickey’s shirt and shoves it off of him. Mickey groans as it catches on his wrists and his hands are caught behind his back.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ian breathes, pushing Mickey back again so his arms are trapped behind him. He kisses Mickey bruisingly hard then moves to his neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Mickey’s breath shudders out of him and he rises on his toes, arching away from the wall. He can feel the burn in his shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in his blood. He wraps a leg around the back of Ian’s and rocks into him, his head thrown back so Ian has better access to his neck. “I-ian. Shit.”

Ian doesn’t respond, too busy moving down Mickey’s throat, biting his collarbone then flicking his tongue over Mickey’s nipple. His teeth replace his tongue and he bites the nipple, rolling it between his teeth as his tongue brushes over the flat peak. Mickey bangs his head against the door, overwhelmed. His heart's pounding in his chest and he’s pressed to Ian, trying to thrust against him. He shakes his shoulders, his shirt finally falling off, so he can bury his fingers in Ian’s hair and hold him so that he can’t move.

Ian keeps teasing and torturing Mickey’s nipple, teeth digging in with sharp bites followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue. Ian slides his hands under Mickey’s ass and lifts him up so Mickey can wrap both legs around his waist. Ian carries him over to the bed and lays Mickey down then settles on top of him. When he looks down at Mickey, Ian’s eyes are dark, pupils blow and barely any green visible. 

“Up.” Ian’s lips are wet and red, his voice rough and thick. He lifts up just enough that Mickey can move further onto the bed. Ian crawls after him and straddles him, running his fingers down Mickey’s chest to the waistband of his jeans. Mickey shivers and his hips rock upward into Ian’s weight.

Mickey stares up at Ian, unable to look away. He’s going to be haunted by red hair and green eyes for the rest of his fucking life. He bites his lower lip then licks it. “Can stay the night.”

“I like that you think I was going to let you leave.” Ian bends down and kisses Mickey slowly, tongue exploring every inch, every surface. Mickey slides his hands up and down Ian’s thighs, fingernails scratching at the denim.

Mick laughs rawly as Ian breaks the kiss. “Fuck, I need you.”

“Mean what I said,” Ian leans over to the night stands and pulls out two pieces of white rope. “Tie you up. If you want.”

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey moans. There are certain things that he’s kept locked safely in the corner of his mind labeled fantasy, and Ian seems determined to turn them all into fact. “Yeah.”

Ian eases off of him. “Naked. Now.”

It doesn’t take long for Mickey to comply, though he does pause to watch Ian for a moment as he strips as well. Ian’s eyes are half-closed, moving over Mickey’s naked body as Mickey stretches back out onto the bed. Once he’s settled, Ian takes one length of rope and secures it to the bed before fitting the loop over Mickey’s hand and tightening it. Mickey tugs experimentally and the rope holds him in place. His cock jerks hard and he can’t look away from Ian as he circles the bed to do the same thing to Mickey’s other arm.

“You look fucking...” Ian shakes his head and grabs a pillow. “Hips up.”

Mickey braces his feet and lifts his ass off the bed. Ian tucks the pillow beneath him and tilts Mickey’s hips. Mickey’s cock is hard again and his breathing is shallow from Ian’s hot eyes raking over his body.

“Spread your legs for me.”

Mickey does as he’s told, keeping his heels on the bed and his legs bent. Ian grabs lube out of the nightstand drawer and kneels between Mickey’s legs. He lowers his head and breathes, nuzzling Mickey’s inner thigh. Mickey’s moan rumbles in his chest, and he pulls against the restraints on instinct. He’s held fast and the rope pressing into his skin causes his cock to jerk again.

Ian licks his lips and stares at Mickey’s dick. There’s a glint of pre-come at the tip, and Ian’s tongue darts out to catch it. Mickey’s hips rock up, but Ian pushes on Mickey’s thighs, keeping him on the bed.

“Ian,” Mickey groans.

“Shh.” Ian grins and licks again, using Mickey’s reaction as a distraction to lick at the soft flesh of Mickey’s thigh before sinking his teeth into the thin skin at the junction of Mickey’s leg and pelvis. Mickey cries out and Ian strokes the teeth marks with his tongue. He keeps licking, moving downward, sliding wet heat over the base of Mickey’s dick, his balls, his perineum, and then finally the tight opening of Mickey’s hole. He cups Mickey’s ass in his hands and moves him until the angle’s right and Ian can lick and suck his way past the muscle and inside him.

Blood pulsing loudly in his head and throbbing in his cock, Mickey watches Ian’s dark red hair moving, brushing against Mickey’s shaft. Mickey knows he’s babbling, asking Ian for more, deeper, harder. He feels wet and slick as Ian licks him open and fucks him with his tongue. 

“Yeah. Yeah, Ian. Fuck, yes. Fuck.” Mickey’s voice breaks, Ian’s name ending on a higher note. Ian pops the cap of the lube and lets it trickle down over Mickey’s dick and balls as his tongue keeps moving until the slow drizzle reaches Mickey’s opening. Ian’s tongue flicks the muscle before he pulls back and slides two finger through the lube. He presses them against Mickey and pushes them in slowly, taking his time to work them in.

Mickey swallows hard and tries to spread his legs wider. Wrapping a hand around Mickey’s leg, Ian guides it up over his shoulder. Mickey gasps at the shift in angle, using his other foot as leverage so he can fuck down onto Ian’s fingers.

“So fucking tight. Your gorgeous, tight ass.” Ian bites Mickey’s thigh again. “Want to fuck you and eat you out for hours. Want to take you the fuck apart, Mick.”

“Yes. Fuck, Ian. Yes. Please.” His voice sounds rough, and he knows he’s in trouble if he’s already begging Ian and they’re really just getting started. 

Ian keeps fucking him, his two fingers thrusting and scissoring, using spit and lube to open Mickey up. Ian’s long fingers scrape and slide over sensitive flesh, and Mickey can’t keep his mouth shut. Ian laughs hoarsely. “Gonna get you loose. Get you all ready for me.”

Mickey can’t really see Ian, but he hears the rough hitch in his breath, hears how Ian’s struggling for air. Mickey digs his heel into Ian’s back causing him to laugh again, thick and soft like velvet. Mickey tugs against the ropes, wanting to touch Ian, touch himself.

“You take my cock so good.” Ian leans in and licks the head of Mickey’s dick. “Can you take everything I want to give you?”

“Yes. Fuck. Yes.” Mickey nods emphatically, voice choking when Ian pushes two more lube-coated fingers inside him. “Fu-fu-fuck.”

It takes a few strokes before Mickey relaxes enough for Ian to start spreading him. It’s too much and not enough as Ian splays his fingers. Mickey curses under his breath, gasping each time Ian brushes him just right and a shock wave goes through him. He hears the lube open again and feels it on his skin. Ian’s fingers slide even easier, and then there’s the hard burn of another stretch, of the wedge of Ian’s whole hand penetrating him.

“I-ian. Fuck. Fuck.” Mickey can barely manage the words, not even sure they’re actually words, if he’s making sense outside his head. He doesn’t think as he lifts his other leg over Ian’s shoulder. Both of his heels dig in hard, and Ian moves with the momentum to take Mickey’s dick in his mouth.

Everything is lost in a wash of white light and noise. Ian’s hand and mouth and breath all drown Mickey until he does fall apart, his orgasm shattering him to pieces.

He blinks an eternity later and his body’s bent, legs still over Ian’s shoulders. Ian’s lips are parted and he’s panting roughly. Mickey can feel the heat of Ian’s dick, the head of it rubbing against Mickey’s hole.

“Gonna fuck you,” Ian growls. “Going to bury myself in you.”

There’s a white stain of come at the corner of Ian’s mouth and Mickey licks it off, not looking away from Ian’s dark eyes. He nods. “Please.”

**

Every single inch of Mickey’s body aches when he wakes up. He has barely there marks on his wrists from the rope, but he can feel the bruises on his neck from Ian’s mouth. He can only imagine them, purple and red, not fading any time soon. He doesn’t know what time it is, since his phone is somewhere on Ian’s floor, and Ian’s phone isn’t by the bed. 

And Ian isn’t in the bed.

Mickey sits up and groans. It feels awful and amazing and he wants to do it all again. Immediately.

“Ian?” He glances over and sees a sticky note on Ian’s pillow. It takes a moment to decipher his chicken scratch, but Mickey finally makes out that Ian’s gone for doughnuts and coffee. Mickey reaches out for his jacket and digs the phone out of his pocket. It’s four AM. Too fucking early, so Mickey stretches back out. He doesn’t want to think about going home, getting married, leaving Chicago.

Leaving Ian.

The thought makes his stomach twist, and he shakes his head quickly to clear it. The door opens and Mickey shifts to prop himself up on the pillows. He starts to say something, but instead he gets hit in the face with something. He picks it up, looking at the newspaper then at Ian. His stomach twists again in a completely different way.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Ian’s voice cracks and his hands shake as he grabs the paper from Mickey and turns it over, slamming it back down hard on Mickey’s lap.

Mickey glances down and his stomach bottoms out as his throat tightens. Above the fold in glaring color is a picture of Ian and Mickey under the El tracks, the photo cropped to keep the picture somewhat tasteful, but the fact that Ian and Mickey are kissing in the photo is damning enough without the inset shot of Mickey’s face with his mouth parted and eyes closed, clearing coming in Ian’s hand. 

Worse though is the headline.

“His royal homosexual,” Ian sneers. His look in his eyes is hurt, betrayal, anger. “The crown prince of Acoritania is supposed to be in Chicago in pursuit of a bride, but it seems like he’s found something else instead. Who knew that Illinois passing legislation allowing gay marriage meant the princess bride would actually be another prince? Who is the crown prince’s new prince charming?”

Mickey swallows hard, reading the words in the article as Ian speaks them. The rest of the story is on page A9, but Mickey doesn’t actually need to read, see, or hear more. He opens his mouth to speak, but can’t actually say anything, not sure what he’d say if he could. He rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand and finally manages. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re _sorry_.” Ian’s laugh is sharp enough to cut. “What are you sorry for? Getting caught? Lying to me? Being with me? Everything? Tell me what you’re fucking sorry about _your majesty_.”

“I never lied. I never...I never told you a lie.”

“True. True. You’re right. My own fucking fault for not asking you point blank if you were fucking royalty. What the _fuck_ was I thinking?”

“If it helps, my dad’s going to disown me the second he sees this. Won’t be a prince anymore. Especially if he kills me first.”

“Pretty sure I’m first in line to kill you.” Ian stares at Mickey, and Mickey has to look away. “What the fuck, Mickey?”

“My dad wants an heir. My brothers both had kids out of wedlock. My dad has no intention of having some bastard with no lineage, no money and no _advantage_ on the throne. And since I didn’t seem to be pursuing anyone, and he wants to be the teacher of all things royal, he decided it was time for him to get a real grandson, so that meant I needed to get married.” He looks down at the paper and traces the line of Ian’s jaw in the photo, unable to hold Ian’s gaze any longer. “So he’s got me up for sale.”

“And he doesn’t give a shit that you’re gay.” Ian smirks. “Or is that what the bruises are about? Daddy’s a gay basher? Thinks a little pussy’s gonna make you stop begging for it up the ass?”

“No. The bruises are because I’m a smartass who doesn’t do what I’m told.” Mickey laughs, the sound thick and pained. “When he finds out I’m gay, he’s straight up going to beat me to death.”

“Right.”

Mickey sets the paper down and gets off the bed, feeling more naked than just being undressed warrants. “I’m sorry. I never...I never meant to hurt you. Never meant for it to...” He shakes his head. “I’m...” He grabs his boxers and tugs them on, getting dressed as quickly as he can, trying to ignore Ian’s glare, his anger. “I’m sorry, Ian. You don’t know how...”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Yeah.” Mickey reaches for his phone and holds it out to Ian. “All the pictures and texts are on there. Nowhere else. I don’t want anyone to be able to use anything against you. I’ll...I’ll have someone get in touch with you about how to deal with the press in case they come after you. I’m...” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”

_“Get the fuck out!_ ” Ian’s voice is hard, no emotion at all, which hits Mickey worse than anything else. “Now, you fucking...”

Mickey nods and sets the phone on the ground by Ian’s door before he walks out. He presses the back of his hand to his mouth to keep the sob that’s in his throat from slipping out. He hears something shatter against the door and can only assume it’s his phone.

He’s not sure where he’s going to go, but hopefully it’s early enough that his dad or royal advisers haven’t cut off his accounts so he can get money out, enough to live on for a while. He’ll figure everything else out as he goes along. 

He doesn’t really have any other choice.


	6. prince and the revolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:  
> Depictions/descriptions of violence and child abuse from Terry to Mickey.   
> Allusions to spousal abuse.   
> Homophobic slurs.
> 
> Please consider your triggers before reading.

The machine eats his card, which lets him know that someone knows about the news story. So Mickey’s got no money, no place to stay, and no way to go home again. Of course, if he gets arrested or anything in the states, he’ll be in trouble for being here without a passport or a visa.

Basically, as far as Mickey can tell, he’s fucked.

Over the next couple of days, whenever he walks by anywhere with newspapers, trashy magazines or TVs in the windows, there’s his picture – the official one that makes him look like a complete tool. There are stories everywhere about people he’s supposedly screwed coming out of the woodwork. Mickey _wishes_ he’d gotten laid as many times as the reports say he has. The statement from the royal family is from his mother saying that they have nothing but love for him. Which is a complete and utter lie.

The only thing his father has for him is a death sentence.

Three days after the first story breaks he manages to get in touch with Mandy, calling her collect. She accepts the charges, which he isn’t actually sure she’ll do, but he hears her yes, it’s like a weight off his shoulders. Until the rest of the conversation starts.

“What the actual _fuck_ , Mickey?”

“Mandy...”

“No. Don’t Mandy me. You’re fucking _gay_?”

“Jesus, keep your voice down. I’d rather the entire fucking universe didn’t know where I was.” He rubs his forehead with his fingers. “Look, I know you’re pissed. I get it, but you have to know why I didn’t tell anyone, right?”

“You didn’t tell _me_. I thought we were...”

“We are. I didn’t...It’s a lot. It’s complicated.”

“Who’s the hot ass?”

“What?” He frowns at the phone and shakes his head. “What?”

“I don’t give a fuck about your existential sexuality crisis. Who’s the sex on a stick you scored?”

“He...it doesn’t matter. Wait. Yes it does. I need your help. He needs your help. I need...fuck.” Mickey exhales and blinks rapidly. His head hurts. His back hurts. His feet hurt. “The press are going to find him eventually. I need you to go to him and help him. Get one of the people we trust to help him deal with the press. Ask...ask one of my guys to watch out for him, okay? No. Wait. If they find him, then dad’ll find him, and...and that can’t happen.” He can hear the break in his voice, and knows Mandy can too.

“Dad’s going home next weekend. Doesn’t mean it’s the end of it, but he’s afraid you’ve started some sort of anarchy back there. The natives are restless sort of thing. He’s going to put on some big front about how everyone’s accepted under his rule, and all he wants is his son to come home.”

“Yeah? You think anyone will buy that?”

“I don’t know. No. But you and your boyfriend-”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not...fuck, he’s not my anything. He’s just a guy whose life I fucked up. Shit, Mandy. It was so good.” He exhales and hates that it shakes. “Can we meet somewhere? Can you get me money? Anything? Clothes? Just something to get me by?”

“I’ll arrange for it. You trust your guys?”

“Yeah, but...fuck, dad’ll be watching them.” He sighs and rests his head against what might be the last payphone in existence in Chicago. “I fucked up, Mandy. I just...It was so good, you know? Being...fuck, just being me. Except how he didn’t know who I was. So I guess I was being someone else to him too. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Look, calm down. Let me do some brainstorming. Is there any way I can get in touch with you?”

“Not...no, not really. Look, let me just give you Ian’s information. He comes first, okay?” Mandy’s quiet for a long time and Mickey clears his throat. “Mandy? Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Absolutely.” She’s quiet again and Mickey’s about to go off on her when she starts talking. “Does he know?”

“Know what? Who I am? Who doesn’t at this point? The big gay prince. Jesus.”

“No, dumb ass. Does he know you’re in love with him.”

“Right now, I imagine he wishes I was dead just as much as Dad does. Doesn’t matter anyway. I just want him to be okay. I don’t...I don’t want Dad to get to him. If...if Dad finds out who he is and goes after him...just...tell Dad that he just has to put a thing in the paper asking me to come home for good. He doesn’t have to go after Ian. I’ll come home. Let him...do whatever, okay? Jesus. Maybe I should just do that anyway.”

“No. Fuck, no.” She snaps at him. “Give me the guy’s information and I’ll get it taken care of. Don’t do anything stupid. And...call me again in two days. Same time. We’ll get it figured out.”

Mickey exhales slowly, shakily. “Thanks, Mands.”

“Yeah, well, I’m only doing it because your boyfriend’s hot.”

Mickey’s voice sounds sad to his own ears, and he wants to be angry at himself, but he can’t quite manage it. “He’s not my boyfriend. But...fuck, it was nice to pretend. For a while. That...that I could have that, you know?” He clears his throat and gives her Ian’s address and phone number. “I told him I’d have someone get in touch with him about handling the press. Hopefully he’ll talk to you.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Mandy laces the words with intentions. “He’ll talk to me.”

“He’s not into chicks, Mandy.”

“I am not just some chick, I’ll have you know.”

“Princess chick.”

“Exactly.” She laughs softly, but it’s pained. “Don’t do anything else stupid, all right, douchebag?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, Jesus. That doesn’t make me feel any better.” She hangs up on him and Mickey sighs gratefully. It’s a risk. He knows it is, but he needs Ian to be safe from his father, and he trusts Mandy. He trusts her to be devious if nothing else, which means his dad won’t find out unless she wants him to. And Mickey’s pretty sure Ian’s just as likely to charm her as he did Mickey. Fucking Milkovich kryptonite.

**

He looks like shit. He _feels_ like shit. He’s spent the last several days sleeping on benches near the lakefront, and he smells awful. He’s managed to use park bathrooms and his face in the distorted mirrors is frightening enough that he doesn’t stay in the parks long so that no one will think he’s some creep and call the cops. He’s got a scraggly beard, his clothes are torn and stained. The one advantage is that he doesn’t look anything like the fucking dickwad he looks like in his official picture.

It’s a slow news week if his face still being plastered on the front page is any indication, and he stands across from a news stand and stares at himself. He spends a lot of time wondering which was better – being like he was and hiding everything, or this now. Unkempt and unclean and a gaping hole in his chest where Ian seemed to fit perfectly.

“Shit.” He storms away from the newsstand toward the pay phone, glaring at it until it rings. He picks it up and says hello, altering his voice so it’s not quite so recognizable.

“Jesus, you sound like a fag.” Mandy snorts a laugh. “What kind of fucking voice was that supposed to be?”

“I didn’t fucking know if it was you, and it wasn’t a faggy voice. It was just...Shut the fuck up. Shit. Did you find him?”

“Your boyfriend? Yeah. He’s even cuter in person.” She sighs dreamily. “He said he’d marry me and we’d live happily ever after and have a million and three babies.”

“Bitch, step off.”

“Oooh. Proprietary. Very sexy. Or it makes you an asshole. I forget which. Which one do you think it is, Ian?”

Mickey hears a low rumble in the background and almost drops the phone. He has to clear his throat a few times before he manages to strangle out the words. “You’re with him?”

“We’re best friends now.” Mandy sounds so fucking smug Mickey wants to slap her. “He likes me better than you, even. Of course, he doesn’t like you at all right now, so that wasn’t super hard, but even at the height of him liking you, he didn’t like you as much as he likes me.”

“Mandy.” It takes every ounce of willpower Mickey has to stay calm. “He’s okay?”

Mandy sobers and he can picture her nodding. “Yeah. He’s alright. He wasn’t super thrilled when I showed up at his door understandably, but I told him he could wear my tiara and he let me in.”

“I fucking hate you.” He rubs his hand over his chin, beard rasping against his palm. “Are the press on to him? Have you got someone helping him? Come on, Mandy.”

“No one seems to have found him yet. The picture of him was fuzzy enough and it was dark enough where he was standing that you can’t completely tell his hair is red. So he seems safe. I’ve had Sabrina talk to him though for initial contact with the press if they make it and he has her number in case it comes to that.”

“Sabrina. Good. She’s good.”

“Um, duh. That’s why I chose her. I also explained to him that you’re a complete dumb ass and he shouldn’t hate you completely because you will be his brother-in-law when he and I get married. I also told him he’s not allowed to fuck you when you’re his brother-in-law, because that would be all incest-y and stuff, and that’s not cool.”

“Mandy. Shut the fuck up about marrying him. And him fucking...anyone. You... _you_ don’t need to be thinking about Ian and fucking. In any way, shape, or form.”

Mandy laughs, and it’s so fucking delighted sounding that Mickey’s absolutely sure that if they were in the same room, he’d punch her in the fucking throat. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous. He’s really being cute, Ian.”

Mickey takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Can I talk to him?”

“No.” She seems to sense that he’s about to say something so she heads him off. “He’s not okay about this.”

“Right. Just...just make sure he’s taken care of, okay? Promise me that, Mandy?”

“Yeah, oh. So we decided that we’re going to leave a trash bag of stuff behind the diner Ian works at. Clothes, some money, a phone for you. Your glasses, since you left them, dipshit.”

“I wasn’t planning on being gone this long when I left the house, okay?” He stops, wincing at the sharpness of his tone. “Sorry. When should I pick it up?”

“Tomorrow morning, about four. Hold on.” He can tell she covers the phone, because everything goes muffled. After a little bit, she comes back, and Mickey can hear the frown in her voice. “Have you eaten lately?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Mickey.”

“It’s _fine_.” He hears Ian in the background, and he’s close enough to the phone that Mickey can catch the cadence of his voice.

“Ian’s going to make sure there’s some food in the bag too, but he said to forget about having your fucking usual.”

Mickey chokes on his laugh. “Yeah. Okay. Tell him...Thanks? I’m sorry? I...Tell him thanks for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s remember who you’re going to owe for this, buddy.”

“I do owe you.”

“Oh, fuck off with that sentimental bullshit. Call me tomorrow afternoon once you’ve got the stuff. Just not fucking early. I need my beauty sleep.”

“No fucking kidding.”

“Just for that, I’m hitting on Ian some more, asshole.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper. “Be careful, okay?”

“Yeah.” Mickey nods even though they can’t see each other. “You too.”

**

He can’t sleep.

Even if it weren’t raining like a son-of-a-bitch, wrath of god bullshit freak storm, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’s sitting in the back door of a store across the street from the diner. He has a clear line of sight from his alley to the other, but he’s trying not to watch it too closely. Ian doesn’t want to see him, and Mickey needs to respect that, even though he’d settle for just a glance at Ian to make sure he’s okay. See for himself.

Not that he knows for sure that Ian’s going to be dropping the stuff in the alley. He or Mandy might have paid someone to do it. Plus, it’s shitty weather so Mickey wouldn’t be surprised if no one showed up at all. He’s not sure what time it is, not sure how long he’s been sitting there. He’s soaked from the knee down, but most of him is sheltered by the doorway recess that he’s relatively dry.

A light flickers across the opposite alley and Mickey looks over before he can stop himself. It’s just shadow and light, but Mickey recognizes Ian’s shape. He licks his lips and bites his lower one, chewing on it until Ian disappears back inside. He waits a few more minutes before hurrying across the street. There’s no traffic, but he feels desperate, so he doesn’t stay exposed very long, getting from alley to alley as quickly as he can.

He stops outside the diner and glances at the shut door. The last time he was out here, he was with Ian and it was in _much_ better circumstances. He shakes his head to get his mind off of the feel and taste of Ian, because getting caught up in that is not going to help him at all. He turns his attention to the trash bag on the step. It’s only about a quarter full, which is probably for the best. It’s not like he has a way of lugging his shit around right now. The rain’s let up, and the recess of the door gives him a little bit of shelter, so he opens the bag. A few changes of clothes, his glasses, his passport – thank fuck for Mandy, she must have stolen it before their dad could do anything to it – and an envelope with some folded bills.

He sighs softly, because it’s enough to get him through for a while, maybe even find a room in a hostel or something at least long enough for him to shower and change. He’s tempted to change right there in the alley and toss his current clothes in the fucking trash. It’s not like he _ever_ plans on wearing them again.

“When did you eat last?”

“Jesus Christ!” Mickey whips around, breathing hard and ready to drop whoever’s behind him. “What the _fuck_ , Ian?”

“You don’t have any room to talk.” Ian crosses his arms over his chest. “When did you last eat?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit, you’re fine. You look disgusting, you smell, and you’re an asshole.”

Mickey rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. All of those things are fucking true. I know. Look, thanks for getting these to me. And for letting Mandy help you. I don’t want...I want you to be safe. I didn’t ever want to fuck up your life. I was a selfish fuck. So...I’ll go and get the fuck out of your life.”

He turns away from Ian to twist the top of the bag closed and hook it over his shoulder. When he turns back around, Ian is a few feet closer, too close. “Come inside. Eat something.”

Mickey looks down at himself then back up at Ian. “Public health would have your ass. I promise, I’m good.”

Ian leans in, his eyes narrowed. “Stop lying to me.”

Mickey flinches and takes a step back. “Okay. You don’t own me anything. I don’t deserve anything. You should just be glad to see the back of me for a million reasons, absolutely none of which have to do with my ass. So just let me do _one_ thing right in all of this, okay?”

Ian reaches in his pocket and pulls out his keys, working one of them off the ring. “Go to my place. Shower. Sleep. I’ve got work and class until late, so you’ll have it all to yourself. It’s a spare key. We can...work it like this for a while. Between work and school, I’m out a lot.”

“Ian...”

Ian meets Mickey’s gaze and holds it, the light above the door glowing yellow-orange over his determined glare. “Don’t _fucking_ argue with me, all right? Just...”

“Okay. Okay.” Mickey holds up his free hand and reaches out for the key. “You have the number to this phone? You can text when you’re on the way home and I’ll make myself scarce.”

Ian’s jaw is set, but he nods jerkily. “We’re not okay.”

Mickey laughs roughly. “The thought that we even might be hadn’t even crossed my mind. This is because you’re a decent person, I know that. Got nothing to do with me.” Mickey wraps his hand tightly around the key. “Thanks.”

“I don’t think there’s food. In the fridge. But if there is...You can pay me back when you find some work or something. I can maybe get you a job here, washing dishes on the night shifts. They’ll pay you under the table. Something until you can...can you do anything? I mean, skill-wise?”

“Not...really. I mean, I can figure shit out, but I don’t have any actual training at anything.” Mickey’s mouth quirks and the rough laugh hurts. “I’ve excelled at fucking up all on natural talent and ability.”

A smile twitches at the corner of Ian’s mouth, but he bites it back. “I’ll talk to Don about the job. Go to my place. Call your sister this afternoon. I’ll be home around eight.”

Mickey nods. He can’t help looking at Ian, can’t help looking for something he knows isn’t there. Forgiveness, understanding...other things that he knows don’t exist. “Thank you.”

“Don’t. Just go.”

Mickey nods and jogs down the alley, careful not to look back. When he gets around the corner, the ache in his stomach seems to engulf him, and he leans against the wall of a building and fights to breathe. He doesn’t stay still long. He catches his breath enough to start walking again, head down, and not stopping until he reaches Ian’s.

The apartment is spotless, and Mickey wonders if that’s how Ian deals with shit. His mom’s like that. Give her a crisis and she becomes Mr. Clean and Better Crocker both. Mickey rubs the back of his neck and looks around after locking the door behind him. He goes to the small counter under the sink and digs out a trash bag, stripping down and dumping all the clothes he’s wearing into it and tying it off. It smells disgusting – _he_ smells disgusting. He walks naked to the bathroom and turns on the shower, getting in before the water’s even warmed up. He wants to wash away the layers of sweat and dirt and odor, but he also doesn’t want to look at himself in the mirror.

The water finally heats up and Mickey groans, head falling forward so the hard spray hits the back of his neck. It feels like all the right kinds of sin though it feels even better when he grabs a washcloth and starts scrubbing himself down.

He doesn’t look as the water spills down the drain, knowing it isn’t pretty, but he does watch his pale skin turn red from scrubbing. By the time he washes his hair, the water is pretty much cold. He turns it off finally and rakes his fingers through his hair, shaking out the excess water before opening the shower to grab a towel. It’s on the rough side, and Mickey rubs it over his skin just like he had the wash cloth. Every single nerve in his body is alive and singing some dying aria before he collapses in exhaustion.

He makes it to the bed and pulls it down, but he doesn’t wait much longer than for it to touch the ground before he’s crawling on to it. He doesn’t even bother burrowing under the covers. He doesn’t have the chance before he’s already fast asleep.

**

It’s dark when he wakes up, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is. He aches all over, completely differently than the way he’d ached the last time he’d woken up in Ian’s bed. He stretches, splaying across the bed and arching his back off the mattress. He falls back against it and rubs his eyes and then sits up. He doesn’t remember getting beneath the covers, but the sheet’s on him, and it falls to his lap. He frowns down at it and yawns then looks up.

“Holy...fuck.” He puts his hand over his heart, like that might stop it from hammering. “Jesus Christ, Mandy.”

“Hey. Nice outfit. I covered you up because I never, ever, ever want to see your junk again as long as I live.” She takes a sip of her drink and leans forward in her chair. “Ian told me you were here. Nice facial hair. You look like a tool.”

“Felt weird to think about using Ian’s razor.” He moves his hand from his chest to his head. “I need you to either close your eyes or get me something for my head. Preferably some of whatever you’re drinking.”

“It’s from dad’s stock. I think it’s, like, a thousand years old. It tastes like wood or something. I’ll tell him you stole it when you ran off. I mean, it’s not like he needs another reason to kill you, but why not, right? Not like you’re ever going to see the asshole again.”

“Not if I’m lucky.”

Mandy gets up and pours Mickey a glass. She gives it to him then disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a bottle of aspirin. Mickey takes three and swallows them down with the scotch. “So, Ian let you crash here, huh? Or did you break in?”

“Ian.” He closes his eyes again. “I fucked up so bad, Mandy.”

“Yeah.”

He falls back on the bed, careful with the glass. “You could not agree quite so fast.”

“Though I get it. Someone not knowing who you are and liking you anyway. Or liking to fuck you. Which is another thing I never want to think about, by the way. And don’t even try to deny it, because there’s _no way_ Ian takes it up the ass on the regular.”

“Mandy. Please.”

“Whatever.” She pauses and takes a sip of her drink. When she’s finished, her voice is soft. “I do get it. It must be amazing to not have to play the part of the prince. Just be a guy. Be yourself.” She sounds wistful and Mickey sits up.

“I’m sorry, Mandy. You could come with me. We could both get out. Just run away. We could go to...what’s a place runaway royalty goes to?”

“I don’t know. The closest I know to royalty is the Kardashians. Mexico, maybe? I mean, the heat has to be better than our frigid homeland, right?” She sighs. “Dad figured out who sicced the press on you. He’s working on systematically destroying them. Not for your sake so much as saving face.”

“I didn’t even think for a second it was for me.” He finishes the scotch and it burns like gold fire. “I am, you know. In love with him.”

“I know.” She smiles sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Even if I fucked it up, Ian was worth it. For as long as I had him. It was worth it. I mean, I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, right? By this time I was supposed to be home and well on my way to getting married to Satan. That woman is scarier than dad.”

Mandy smiles, but it fades quickly. “Why didn’t you trust me?”

“I did. I thought about telling you a thousand times. I just didn’t know how to say it. I’d never said it out loud, you know? I knew I was. I didn’t fool myself about that. Besides, you...” Mickey sighs and shrugs. “What if you hated me? I didn’t want you to know if you’d hate me.”

“I’m your fucking sister.”

“Yeah, well, Dad’s my fucking dad and that doesn’t seem to make a difference to him. You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a friend.” He can’t look at her. “And it’s not like I’ve seen you interact with any gay people. No one’s going to admit that at home. And I’m...” He’s still never said it out loud, and the word sticks in his throat, which is pretty ridiculous given that he’s had a cock there. “I’m gay.”

“Yeah, well, I love you, Mickey. And I’ve never said that to anyone out loud.” He looks at her and she smiles. Her eyes are bright and he’s pretty sure if she starts crying, he’ll break down, and she’ll punch him. “So we’re even.”

“Yeah? What if I say it back? What are you going to confess?”

“That you’re a royal douche.”

“That’s no secret.” Mickey laughs.

“So don’t fucking say it.”

“Okay.” He’s quiet for a minute, because he’s really not sure what to say. Nothing really seems like enough. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, whatever. So I’m going to go out in the hallway. You get dressed and then I’ll take you out for some food. I know for a fact that I ate all of Ian’s Cheetos, and I think that was the last food he had left. Cheetos and scotch, by the way? Not a good combo. Who would have thought.”

“Anyone with half a brain cell?”

She flips him off and gets up, grabbing her phone off the bed and calling someone as she walks out the door. Mickey goes into the bathroom and pisses then looks at himself while he’s washing his hands. The facial hair isn’t _horrible_ , but it could use some work. He goes out into the apartment and grabs the bag of clothes, tugging on a pair of boxers and jeans, clean socks and a t-shirt. They’re obviously all new, and absolutely nothing he would wear at home.

He tugs on a pair of tennis shoes and goes over and opens the door. Mandy’s there with Ian, waving her phone at Mickey. “O-oh. Ian. I didn’t..”

“Ian’s going to introduce you to the guy at the restaurant about the job. And we’re going to eat, because I’m hungry, and your stomach was growling while you were sleeping.”

“You were serious about that?” Mickey frowns and risks a glance at Ian.

Ian’s not looking at him when he shrugs. “Don said he needs a busboy and dishwasher. Neither requires a lot of skill, and I figured you could manage it without breaking too many dishes.”

“Maybe,” Mickey’s not actually sure, but he supposes it is a possibility.

“Probably not,” Mandy says. “Oh. By the way, Mick, do you know you fucked Sebastian Stan? I didn’t even know he was gay. Good job there, though you _could_ have introduced me.”

“I didn’t...Jesus, Mandy.” Mickey’s torn between blushing and killing her, but since Ian is sort of in between them, and Mandy’s probably the only one he wants to be around out of the two of them, he settles for blushing.

“I’d fuck him.”

Mickey and Mandy both turn to look at Ian. He glances from one to the other and shrugs. “What?”

Mandy shakes her head. “I’m just...”

“...picturing that.” Mickey nods. “Wow. Well. That’s...a _really_..um...nice. Image. Except for the whole thought of you fucking someone el...se.” Mickey looks away as quickly as he can, cursing himself under his breath.

“I was.” Ian’s staring straight at him when Mickey stops dead and turns around. “You didn’t think you were the only one, did you? I know you’re not that stupid.”

“What? You were…”

“Fucking other people.” Ian nods and smiles sharply at him. “While we were fucking.”

Mickey’s chest aches and goosebumps rise on his skin. He swallows hard and nods. “Oh. Okay. Well. That’s...” He bites his lower lip hard, focusing on the feeling, the pain. That’s something he can handle. The thought of Ian...

“Dating someone, actually.” Ian’s voice is flat, and Mickey can’t actually look at him anymore. “He knew you were just a piece on the side, so he was fine with it.”

“Oh.” Mickey nods, but he’s not sure he’s in control of his head or anything. He digs the key Ian gave him out of his pocket and presses it against Ian’s chest, careful to only touch the metal, not to touch Ian. Ian doesn’t take it, and it falls to the ground with a loud clink when Mickey takes a step back.

“Mickey. He’s lying.” Mandy kicks Ian hard. “Tell him you’re lying.”

“It’s fine.” Mickey nods. “It’s fine. It wasn’t like it was...I mean, it couldn’t last, right? It’s fine. I’m...I’m gonna go home.”

“What?” Mandy’s voice is shrill and she grabs Mickey’s arm. “What?”

Mickey jerks violently and shakes her off. Mandy’s eyes are wide and scared. He gives her a little smile that has nothing in it that’s good. He glances over her shoulder at Ian. “It’s okay.” He’s not talking to Ian, but Ian nods anyway, like maybe Mickey’s making some sort of apology. Maybe he is. “It’s going to be fine.”

“No, it’s fucking _not_ fine. It’s _not_ okay.”

He lowers his voice so Ian can’t hear. “This was the best thing I’m ever going to have, Mandy. And I had it. Dad can’t take that away from me. And he can’t actually kill me. Might be fun to have him have to support me in public.”

“Until he beats the ever-loving shit out of you for it.”

“I’ve been fucked from the start,” he reminds her. “Fucking mistake pregnancy that he beat the shit out of mom for, gay, not anything he wanted me to be. I was never going to make it out of this, and you know it. Just make sure Ian’s okay. Tell him...tell him I’m sorry. And I hope he and his boyfriend are happy.”

“He’s _lying_ , Mickey. He’s lashing out. Trying to hurt you. He doesn’t have a fucking boyfriend.” She grabs Mickey by the wrist and won’t let go. “I’m not letting you go back there.”

“What am I going to do, huh? Make it out here on my own? No skills, no job, no place to live, no idea at all how to fend for myself? Let me just walk away with it being good, okay? Let me get him right. He may not care, but it’s the least I can do.” He leans in and kisses her cheek. “Love you, Mandy.”

“No. Fuck you. No.”

“You should get out while you can.” He grabs her wrist tight and holds it until she has to release her grip, but she doesn’t look away. “I’ll see you at home.”

**

His room hasn’t changed really, except it’s obviously been torn apart and put back together. He changes out of the clothes Mandy had brought him and into one of the royally approved outfits. He looks at himself in the mirror and sighs, stripping off his shirt and going into the bathroom to shave. It makes him look younger, though he’s never looked innocent and never will. He puts the shirt back on along with his jacket with the family crest on it then walks down the main staircase.

His parents are talking to a reporter, and it’s the camera person’s gasp that brings everyone’s eyes up to Mickey. He waves and walks down the stairs. His mom looks ready to cry, but he’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with being happy to see him. It has to do with the angry light in his dad’s eyes. He can see from the way she’s standing that Terry has already taken some of this out on her, and it settles it in Mickey’s head and heart that he’s made the right decision.

The reporter starts asking questions immediately, jumping on the exclusive. She asks about him being gay, about who the guy was, how his homeland treats homosexuals, why he chose now to come out, if the guy was someone from Chicago, where did they meet, were they dating. Mickey defers all the questions about Ian, but answers the rest in the ways he was taught. Telling people the answer to the question they’re asking without giving away anything. A hint of the truth. No one on the society pages ever thinks to ask follow up questions.

“Will you still get married?”

“Yes.” His father’s voice is hard and firm. “We have every intention of going through with the marriage. Mickey made a mistake, a slip up. And now that’s in the past.”

“No.” Mickey shakes his head. “I’m sure Rebecca’s family wants to have nothing to do with me, and I don’t blame her. She assumed she was entering a marriage with a heterosexual. And that’s not the case. I’m not even bisexual. I’m gay. I refuse to ask anyone to enter a marriage contract with me when I certainly couldn’t fulfill the duties expected. I can’t offer heirs to my father. I can’t offer a woman a marriage bed. And I’m pretty sure my dad doesn’t intent to see his son and his husband on the throne.” He manages a smile, and he can tell it comes across as sincere given the way the reporter stares at him. “As for the person in the photo with me – he’s someone I met. He had no idea who I was or what he might be getting into. He’s just a guy from Chicago, and he didn’t intend to walk into this storm, and I won’t answer any other questions about him.”

His father’s eyes are narrow when he looks over at Mickey. Anger and the promise of retribution and pain. Mickey nods.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to attend to.” He slips back behind his parents and heads downstairs toward the gym. The reporter starts to call out to him, but he just waves back and slips through the hallway. It’s not until he’s in the stairwell that he realizes that he’s shaking. He stops to catch his breath and gets caught as the door gets kicked open. It hits him and crashes him into the wall and sends him tumbling down the stairs.

“You goddamned faggot son-of-a-bitch.” Terry’s face swims in Mickey’s vision, beet red and a mask of fury. “You think you were fucking funny up there? You think the fucking press is gonna protect you and your fucking AIDS money? You think you can fucking humiliate me? You make me a fucking laughingstock? You think I can’t end you, you asshole?” He storms down the stairs and kicks Mickey so he tumbles the rest of the way to the floor of the gym.

Mickey gets to his knees, holding his aching ribcage. He glances up at Terry just in time to see the sole of Terry’s boot before the impact. He hears the cartilage in his nose break and the world goes gray and sways to the left. The back of his head hits the wood floor hard, but not as hard as the heavy kick to the ribs, to the stomach, to the thighs.

“You were a fucking mistake! I told your mother to fucking abort your deviant ass. Knew you were a fuck-up. Probably not even mine. Probably the son of that whore and a goddamned fucking farmhand. I should have killed you the first time I saw you. Red-faced, screaming. You wouldn’t even suck her fucking boob. Fucking faggot from the fucking start.” Terry catches Mickey under the chin with the toe of his boot and Mickey blinks against the field of stars that burst behind his eyes.

Terry keeps yelling, ranting, but Mickey’s stop processing everything. The words, the pain, the world. He wants to think about Ian, but he doesn’t want him dirtied with this, bloodied with it. Ian’s his. His memory. His one good thing.

He’s not sure when he passes out. He thinks he remembers a few more hits, but that might be just because saw the bruises in the gym mirrors before his bodyguards carried him up to his room and tended to most of his wounds. He’s a broken and bleeding mess, two black eyes and a broken nose, The bandage around his ribs isn’t doing anything to ease the pain. It hurts to breathe, to do anything.

One of the guys – he’s not sure which at this point – gives him two painkillers and he swallows them dry. They both lay him down and he closes his eyes because that takes less energy than keeping them open. He can’t talk, though he doesn’t think his jaw is broken. His hand is broken, smashed under his father’s boot. He’s relatively certain that the two kicks he took to the junk sent everything crawling right back up inside where they started. He knows he hurts so much he doesn’t even know it’s hurting anymore. He’s numb inside and out.

“We’re right next door, okay, Mickey?”

He blinks at them, since that seems to be a functioning response then closes his eyes and wills himself to fall asleep or at least for the drugs to kick in. They must at some point, or he passes out again because the next time he opens his eyes, his entire body feels like it’s on fire, skin burning and boiling, blood pounding so hard it’s like it’s going to beat right out of him.

He tries to sit up and fails a couple of times before he manages to prop himself up on the pillows.

“Jesus. I thought you were dead.”

Mickey starts at the voice, hitting his head on the headboard and groaning in pain. “Fuck.”

Mandy comes over from the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t look impressed. “Did you fight back at all?”

“Yeah. Should see the other guy.” His voice is slurred because of his broken nose and whatever his dad did to his jaw.

“I did. He’s downstairs eating breakfast like nothing happened. You’re kind of a pussy.”

Mickey tries to glare at her, but his eyes are nearly swollen shut and his head is pounding. “Pills?”

“Yeah.” She goes back into the bathroom and comes back out with a bottle. She shakes two out and puts them in his hand. “These are from Iggy’s stash, so they’re good shit.” She grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and opens it for him. “This is why you came home? So he could do this to you? You know he’s still looking for Ian, right? And you know you’re still getting married, right? Monday. Maxwell is calling the press. Setting everything up. Fucking church and everything. Pretty sure he’s going to walk you down the fucking aisle and stand over your bed until you get her pregnant.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“You sure about that? You don’t look like you’re in much of a state to fight him.” She sighs. “Jesus, Mick. You’re so fucking stupid.”

He closes her eyes and flips her off. “Why are you even in here?”

“Because you’re fucking stupid. Ian was pushing you away because he’s hurt. He _likes_ you and he can’t have you and it pisses him off. And you lied to him, even if it was a lie of omission. He’s got a right to be pissed off. To want to hurt you.”

“Tell him he’s good.” He sniffs and it feels like lightning shoots up his nose. “Oh, fuuuuck.” He tries to breathe, opening his mouth so he doesn’t have to use his nose. “Dad’s got that covered.”

Mandy punches him hard on the thigh and Mickey shudders in pain. “ _Asshole_.”

“What the _fuck_ , Mandy!” Shouting at her hurts like fuck, and every part of his body that wasn’t aching is now. He feels a trickle of blood run down toward his lip and wipes it away with the back of his hand. “Why are you even here?”

“I have a solution to your stupidity. Well, a temporary one. I’m pretty sure that it’s a long term condition that doesn’t go away.” She looks smug, leaning back and kicking her feet up onto the bed. “You want to hear my cunning plan?”

“Do I have a choice?” He shoves her feet off the bed and she sits up, flipping him off. Mickey ignores her and closes his eyes again. “Let’s hear it. Fucking dazzle me.”

“You’re going to get married.”

Mickey barks a laugh that’s nowhere near amused. “Yeah, that’s the fucking problem.”

“No. Not to Rebecca.” Mandy pauses dramatically and Mickey opens one of his eyes as wide as he can. “To Ian.”

“Ian hates me.”

“Ian doesn’t hate you. Well, maybe he hates you a little bit. But he doesn’t want you to have to get married to some woman. And I’m sure the last thing he wants is for dad to beat the shit out of you.”

“Maybe he’d like it. He doesn’t like me right now.”

Mandy sighs and gets off the bed, storming over to the door to the adjoining room. Mickey turns his head, but his vision is too blurry to see that far away. “You guys, quit talking to him. Jesus. Don’t believe a word they say. They’re bodyguards. Not to be trusted. Verbally anyway. Physically they’re useful.” Mandy comes back in the room, materializing from a fuzzy blur to a vaguely sister-shaped entity. Mickey can’t focus on her though, because beside her is red hair and definitely not sister-shaped.

“Holy shit.” Ian says the words in a way that makes Mickey’s stomach and heart twist. “Your _dad_ did this? I thought...aren’t they bodyguards?”

“Yeah, but they’re to protect him from outside shit. The stuff inside doesn’t count.”

Ian sits on the edge of Mickey’s bed and reaches out, not touching him, but his fingers skim over the air just above Mickey’s skin. “Jesus.”

“What’s he doing here, Mandy?” He sounds nasal and he can feel another trickle of blood slip from his nose. He scrubs the back of his hand beneath his nose to get rid of it, and it’s like shrapnel hitting him in the face. “Fuck.”

“I told you. You’re going to get married.”

“Great. I get beaten within an inch of my life, and my sister’s gone insane.”

“Not really. I mean the insane part.” Ian frowns and reaches out, tracing the puffy skin around Mickey’s eyes. The touch is barely there, and doesn’t hurt. Whether it’s because of the lightness or because it’s Ian, Mickey’s not sure. “Your dad is going to make you marry some girl, right?”

“I told him no, but I don’t think he listened in between beating the shit out of me and kicking the shit out of me.”

“Well, same-sex marriages are legal in Illinois. We could get married. That way you can’t marry her.”

Mickey looks at Mandy. “Nice try, but Dad wouldn’t acknowledge it at home.”

“So you don’t go home.” Mandy shrugs. “You’d be married to a US citizen. They can green card your ass and you never have to deal with dad again.”

“Why would you do this?” Mickey asks Ian, trying to get a clearer view of his face through his bruised and swollen eyes. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. I’m angry at you. Furious. But...I don’t hate you. It’d be easier if I did. I could just walk away. Let this happen to you. But right now the only thing I want to do is go after your dad with a butterfly knife.”

“You’d need something bigger than that.” Mickey can’t help the small curve of a smile, even though it hurts.

“I’m bigger than that.” Ian sighs and rubs his thumb over Mickey’s lower lip. Mickey hisses air in through his teeth as it brushes against the split skin, the dried blood. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Not your fault. Mine.” Mickey relaxes with Ian’s touch and his eyes close completely. “Was just really good with you.”

“So marry me. Defy thy father and refuse thy name.”

“Oh, fuck that, Juliet.” Mickey laughs and groans. “When and where?”

“Well, if your bodyguards will help, the courthouse in about twenty minutes.”

Mickey looks at Mandy who’s nodding. She looks worried and scared for him. “This falls on you now, Mands.”

“I got it covered.” She smiles at him and reaches out, squeezing his hand. “I’m going to make the most kick-ass queen.”

“I don’t want...”

“Mick. Please.” She squeezes his hand again. “I promise. Fairy tale ending. Not that Romeo and Juliet bullshit.”

He looks at her for a long time then back to Ian. “Is this the part where I say ‘I do’?”

Ian smiles and it’s blinding and the most beautiful thing Mickey’s seen. Like the face of an angry god. “One of ‘em.”


	7. someday my prince will come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning:
> 
> Depiction/description of violence and non-sexual child abuse - Terry to Mickey  
> Homophobic slurs  
> Feminine slurs

“You sure this is legal?” Mickey’s head is pounding and the rest of him feels even worse. “They’re gonna fucking think you kidnapped me or something.”

“Shut up.” Mandy tightens her grip on his waist to help keep him upright. “It’s perfectly legal. Ish.”

“Ish?”

“Look, Dad can’t do anything about it. Like, undo it with some order or something. It’s legal. The officiant is going to make it legal. You do. He does.”

“Why do you do?” Mickey squints at Ian. 

“I’m not going to leave you there with your dad. I might be pissed off at you, but I really don’t want you to die because we got our rocks off together.”

Mickey doesn’t flinch, but he wants to. He’s not sure which would be worse – being married to Rebecca and having her make his life hell on purpose, or being married to Ian and have his life be hell because it’s more than clear that Ian’s not doing this because he wants to. Still, after his dad is gone, he can disappear. Other people have figured out how to make it. He can probably do the same.

Mandy doesn’t let Mickey go, but he knows she glares at Ian. Mickey just wants to stop walking and make her take him home. “He doesn’t really want this, Mandy. Let me go home.”

“No.”

“Mandy...”

“No, Mickey. For the last time, no. You’re not going to be a fucking martyr. You’re not going to end up in a loveless marriage...”

“What the fuck do you think this is? He can’t even look at me.” Mickey gestures to Ian and the movement causes pain to shoot down his side and make his knees buckle slightly. “Not wanting me dead is a pretty shitty basis for a marriage.”

“At least it’s _somewhere_ to start. And it’s more than you’d have with her.” Mandy stops walking and stands in front of Mickey. “You and Ian aren’t perfect, and I don’t know what you’re going to do after this. Maybe you’ll stay together. Maybe you won’t, but you’ll be alive to make the decision. This is nothing, Mick.” She gestures to his battered body. “How many times are you going to get this if you don’t get her pregnant? Or don’t get her pregnant right away? You think he’s not going to use each failed night of sex to beat the gay out of you? You think this is over because he got his first punches in?”

“So? Who gives a shit, Mandy?”

She slaps him hard across the face. “I do, asshole.”

Mickey hisses and sucks in his bottom lip, tasting blood. He can’t look at Mandy, and he feels like complete and utter shit for putting her in this position. “I’m sorry, Mands.”

“Well,” she huffs and swallows hard, her eyes bright in the sunlight. “You should be. But you also need to be in the office in five minutes, so you guys go get in place, and I’ll get the license and you’ll say ‘i dos’, sign it, and Dad will be fucked six ways to Sunday. Except...ew.”

Mickey manages a laugh, but it hurts. He risks a glance at Ian. He’s standing there watching Mickey and Mandy with a strange look on his face. Maybe it reminds him of his siblings. Mickey doesn’t know. Doesn’t really know anything about Ian. The guy he’s going to marry.

Mickey’s not sure how his life went so far off track.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know.” Ian shrugs. “But like I said, I’m not going to let your dad destroy you. I’m pissed at you, but you’re not a complete jackass of a person all the time. Besides, I don’t condone murder ever. Surprisingly, because I always thought I wanted my dad dead, but never because he got killed. Weird. Anyway. I could do worse than a prince.”

“Pretty sure I’m not going to be a prince anymore.”

“Ex-prince is still pretty cool.” Ian’s mouth quirks into a smile. “I mean, that’s not something the other kids can say.”

“True enough.” Mickey smirks. It hurts like hell. “You don’t have to worry about shit, you know. I’ll find a job and a place. Get out of your hair as soon as I can.”

“Let’s take this one step at a time, okay? First things first.” He nods toward the courthouse steps. “You gonna take my last name?”

“Mickey Gallagher sounds ridiculous.”

“Ian Milkovich?” Ian raises an eyebrow. “Hmm. Workable.”

“His royal highness, Ian Milkovich, officially. Well, in a few minutes. You can be the power behind the throne.”

Ian laughs. “I’m the power behind us.”

“Not always!” Mickey flips him off. “I seem to recall a time or two I did all of the work.”

“Should we compare averages?”

Mickey rolls his eyes as Mandy comes out of a room off the hallway. “What the fuck are you two still doing here. In here. Come on!” She ushers them into a small room with four chairs, a podium, and a guy who looks like some town-guy in a Twilight Zone rerun. “Hey. These are them. They’re idiots. Sorry.”

Mickey shakes off her grip and pulls his arm away. He sways a little from the motion and the guy looks at him worriedly. “Are you okay, son?”

“I tripped coming up the steps.” 

Ian and Mandy both snort and the guy does his best not to say anything. The door to the room opens again and Mickey nearly jumps out of his skin, only relaxing slightly when his two bodyguards come in. 

“About time,” Mandy snaps at them, and Mickey’s glad to have her attention directed elsewhere. He looks at Ian instead, memorizing him. He knows Ian’s freckles. Knows the strange colors that filter in his eyes, knows the curves of Ian’s lips, of Ian’s body. There has to be a catch to why Ian is doing this, Mickey just can’t figure out what it is. Money is his first guess, but their dad keeps a tight fist on their finances, so he doesn’t know how Mandy would manage it. And Mickey would easily believe it’s just because Ian’s a nice guy, except this is his entire life. 

Three years of it anyway. Three years and Ian can be free if he sticks to the deal. If he doesn’t, then Mickey’s a man on the run, a man without a country. Ian turns his head and catches him looking. He doesn’t quite smile, but he doesn’t look as angry as before, doesn’t look as hurt. 

Mickey knows that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe this is all a perverse joke to him. Mickey can’t seem to believe that, given what he knows of Ian, what he knows about how Ian feels about family. He gets shaken out of his thoughts by Mandy’s voice. 

“Okay. Groom. Groom. Witnesses. Officiant-dude. We’re set, right?” There’s an edge in her voice that Mickey thinks is fear. He shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t make her take the brunt of their dad’s attention, his desire for a legacy. She turns her eyes to his and smiles, and he realizes that it’s not fear. He’s not sure what it is. Maybe triumph? Like she’s pulling off the greatest con in history. Maybe she is.

“All right. Shall we?” The officiant smiles from Mickey to Ian and back again, looking worriedly at Mickey’s busted up body. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not here under duress, dude.”

“Right. Okay. So...Mandy, is it? She gave me these vows for you. Pretty simple. I do most of the talking.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because you haven’t met Ian,” Mickey grumbles and Ian makes a face like he’s offended. Mickey fights to keep the smile from curling the corners of his lips. 

The officiant clears his throat. “All right. Let’s get started.” He takes a deep breath and looks at Ian. "Ian and Mickey. Mickey?”

“Trust me, it’s easier. And legal. It’s cool.”

“Right. Mickey. Marriage is about many things. Loving, honoring and cherishing your partner now and forevermore. It is a pledge to share your life openly with him, to speak the truth to him, in love. Ian, will you promise to honor and tenderly care for Mickey, to encourage his fulfillment as an individual through all the changes in your lives?"

Ian looks at him then at Mickey. “Do I answer now?”

“Not quite yet. Ian, will you have this man, Mickey, to be your wedded husband, to live together in marriage, will you love him, comfort him, honor him and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, so long as you both shall live?"

Ian waits a beat until the officiant looks at him then looks at Mickey with wide eyes. “Y-yeah. I do.”

“Excellent. And Mickey. Will you promise to honor and tenderly care for Ian, to encourage his fulfillment as an individual through all the changes in your lives? Will you have Ian to be your wedded husband, to live together in marriage, will you love him, comfort him, honor him, and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorry and in joy, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” There’s no hesitation to his words, no delay in speaking, and it has nothing to do with Rebecca or Terry or anything else. It has to do with the red-headed goofball asshole in front of him. “Yeah. I do.”

“Well then, by the power invested to me by the state of Illinois, I now pronounce you married in front of the eyes of these witnesses and all who will see you henceforth.” He looks from Mickey and Ian to Mandy. She rolls her eyes.

“Kiss, dickheads.”

Mickey swallows. “Aren’t there supposed to be rings?”

“Rings aren’t required.” 

“So we’re married. Like...husband and husband.” He swallows hard again. “Legally and shit.”

“As soon as you both sign this paper, yes.”

Mickey licks his lips and can still taste blood. He glances at Ian out of the corner of his eye. “Last chance, Gallagher.”

“Mick.” Ian sighs and grabs the pen, scrawling his signature on it before handing it over to Mickey. “Just sign the fucking paper.”

Mickey does. His official signature. The one that’s on his passport. The one that’s usually followed by a sigil. He signs it in English as well as his native language, licking his lips again. Ian watches him and Mickey wills his hand not to shake as he does. 

“So that’s you, huh?”

“Officially, yeah.”

“Mickey suits you better.”

“Always has. Mandy couldn’t say my real name, so she called me that. Stuck.” He can’t look away from Ian’s eyes, searching them for clues, for signs. “So we’re married.”

The bodyguards get up to sign the document as witnesses then hand it to the officiant. “You’re married. I’ll file this at city hall this afternoon.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Mandy groans. “Will you two fucking kiss already.”

“God, you’re bossy. I can tell you’re related.” Ian ignores Mandy sticking her tongue out at him. “And don’t tell me it’s the royalty thing, because I think you’re just naturally that way.”

Mickey closes the distance between them, hoping that Ian won’t push him away in public, in front of the guy who just married them. He doesn’t pull Ian in. He leans in, slightly up, and presses a kiss to Ian’s mouth. It’s soft, barely there, and Mickey’s not sure if it’s because of his cuts and bruises or if it’s because of Ian that his whole body aches after.

“Okay, we need a drink to celebrate.” Mandy wraps an arm through Ian’s. “It’s going to have to just be the two of us though, because Mickey needs to get back home before Dad shows up.”

“Wow. I’m going to spend my wedding night with my husband’s sister. That’s kind of fucked up.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the family.”

**

“Wait, why am I going home?” Mickey’s stuck between both of his bodyguards in a taxi, watching as Ian and Mandy walk down the sidewalk. “I thought the whole point was that I was married to him so I didn’t have to be around Dad.”

“It’s all part of Mandy’s plan.”

“Why are we letting Mandy come up with plans? You remember that debacle four years ago? _That_ was Mandy’s plan.”

“So you guys accidentally invaded a small country and usurped their government. That’s just what kids these days do.” 

“Are you being serious with me right now?”

“Look, she’s got a plan. Just roll with it.” 

Mickey looks from one to the other and closes his eyes. He’s not sure if he’s hoping for patience, understanding, or a semi-automatic weapon. His whole body aches and he’s exhausted, so he keeps his eyes closed for the rest of the ride home. He’s safe and secure in his room and his bed is the best thing he’s ever seen in his life apart from Ian. He crawls into it and he doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must, because the next thing he knows is being forcibly hauled out of bed and onto his feet.

“What the fuck?”

Terry is looking at him with pure hatred in his pig-like face. “Get dressed and get down to your mom’s room. We got some TV make-up artist to hide all this shit.”

“What?”

Terry grabs Mickey by the neck and lifts him. Mickey can see his dad’s bicep bulging in the periphery of his vision, but he doesn’t look away from Terry’s eyes. “You think just because you’re fucking cute in front of a reporter that you have any say in what’s going on here? I got people who can spin this shit faster than you can get a dick shoved up your ass.”

“Well, actually, that takes prep and work, Dad. It’s not like...” Terry tightens his fingers on Mickey’s throat and cuts off Mickey’s breath, his words. 

“You fucking faggot. You think you’re funny? You’re not funny. You’re sick and pathetic and a fucking botched abortion. But you’re gonna do what I fucking say and you’re going to fucking like it. So you’re gonna get married today. You’re gonna stand up in front of God and everybody and you’re going to take those vows and you’re going to give me an heir and then one night when you least expect it, you’re gonna have a fucking accident. It’ll be fucking tragic. But we’ll move on. We’ll manage to get by. And not a single person on this earth is going to miss you. Not your mother, not your sister, not your wife. And even your pussy little boyfriend’s going to have found some other pole to suck.”

Mickey struggles, trying to kick Terry. His face is hot, burning, and his lips are starting to go numb. Terry squeezes tighter then lets go. Mickey falls to the floor, groaning in pain and gasping for breath, one hand at his throat. “N-no pussy involved, Dad.”

Terry’s kick hits Mickey hard in the ribs, and breathing becomes even more difficult. He retches and gags and then throws up, every heaving motion like another kick from Terry’s steel-toed boots. “You’re a fucking disgrace in every fucking way. Pretty sure your boyfriend does like pussy.” Terry squats down and jerks Mickey’s chin, forcing him to look at him. “Because if he’s fucking you, he’s definitely fucking one.”

Mickey spits in Terry’s face, phlegm and bile and saliva, even though the energy for doing it costs him. It’s worth it. Even when Terry’s fist directly to Mickey’s head makes the world go black.

He wakes up the second time in his mom’s room. He knows someone’s shot him up with something because he can’t feel shit. Probably got a dose of his mom’s coping mechanism. He rolls his head and can see the red spot in the crook of his elbow from the shot. Thankfully morphine exists.

“You look like shit.” Iggy’s sitting next to Mickey on the bed, picking at his fingernails. “Like, I don’t get this whole gay thing. I mean, I get it, but it sounds like the grossest thing ever?”

“You put your dick in some wet, sloppy, disgusting hole.” Mickey’s not sure if the words come out coherently or at all. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t have shit in it. Literally.” Iggy laughs because he’s a dick, but Mickey’s vaguely impressed he got the definition of ‘literally’ correct. “And you shouldn’t let your personal prejudices influence your realization of what a piece of art the cunt is. Symmetrical and shit.”

“You actually get close enough to them to look?”

Iggy laughs again. “Hey, I’ll have you know, I’m a pretty excellent fuck.” He chews on the edge of his thumbnail, frowning. “Shit, Mick.”

“’s fine.”

“You look like a piece of meat in a butcher shop window. One that’s been hanging there for a couple days.”

“Dad’s given me worse.”

“No. He hasn’t.” Iggy spits a piece of his nail onto the floor, very carefully not looking at Mickey. “Look, I don’t pretend to get the whole liking dudes thing, but...us guys...we’re your brothers. This doesn’t change that. It didn’t change it before we knew, and it’s not going to change it now. Okay?”

Mickey’s quiet for a long minute, and he realizes he’s breathing through his mouth, which means his nose is probably clotted with blood. “Thanks.”

“You’re still a fucking idiot though. Like, how many years ago did we get taught about the press? Shit.” Iggy snorts a laugh. “Also Mom’s got you higher than a fucking kite.”

“Noticed.”

“Dad had a fucking TV person to do your makeup for the wedding? But after this, he called in a fucking mortician. Like, that’s how fucking bad you look.”

“Well, feel dead, so makes sense.” Mickey tries to laugh but it hurts even through the morphine. “When’s this shit show supposed to start?”

“Couple hours.” Iggy looks at Mickey and offers him a thin smile but the worry in his eyes actually means more to Mickey than anything else. Smiles can be faked. “Guess Dad’s beating will get you prepped for the little woman. She seems like a fucking hellcat.”

“She’s a bitch. And you’re probably right. At least I’ll probably still be numb by the time I have to have sex with her.” Vaguely he thinks about Ian, about what they said. Even if he has to go through with this ridiculous bullshit, he’s married to Ian. Ian’s his husband. It might just be in name, but it supercedes anything his dad has arranged. All he has to do is produce the marriage certificate, which he assumes Mandy has. Which he assumes Mandy will bring to the ceremony.

Shit.

“Come on.” Iggy stands up and helps Mickey do the same. “I’d rather you didn’t give Dad another reason to take a swing at you.” He leads Mickey into the next room where his mom and the fucking mortician are sitting. Mortician. Jesus Christ. Iggy helps Mickey into the chair. The mortician just stares at him like Mickey’s the worst thing he’s ever seen. 

“Just get it over with,” Mickey assures him. “I’m not feeling a goddamn thing.”

**

His dad’s sitting in the front row looking like he’d happily kill Mickey if there weren’t what feels like 50,000 cameras on them. Mickey feels like an ass in his tux given that he married Ian in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and it meant something to him. The makeup feels like it’s melting off his face, and his stomach clenches when the wedding march starts. If he had anything left in his stomach, he thinks he’d throw it up right then and there, but as it is, he just chokes down bile. 

Objectively, Rebecca’s beautiful walking down the aisle. She’s wearing white, which makes Mickey want to laugh. He’s pretty sure it would turn into a sob though. He took another half dose of his mom’s morphine to get rid of the edge of pain creeping up by the time the makeup was done, so caring is tenuous at best. He looks around for Ian, for Mandy, and doesn’t see either of them. Maybe the whole thing was a joke. Maybe the officiant was just some guy they hired and they both want Mickey’s hopes up so that it can all blow up in his face. 

The morphine keeps the panic from taking hold and he looks away from Rebecca to stare at the wall. She comes up the stairs to the altar and stands beside him, blocking his view of the stained glass picture window. This isn’t a traditional Orthodox wedding and it probably annoys the fuck out of his dad. Mickey’ll probably have to go through this again at home, do it properly. Koumbaros, garland crowns, common cup, candles – the whole works. The only thing they’re doing according to tradition is wearing their rings on their right hands instead of their left.

Mickey glances around. Still no Mandy. Still no Ian.

The priest or pastor or reverend or whatever the guy is clears his throat and looks around at the gathered crowd. “Family, friends, and...press, apparently. We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Mickey...Mickey?”

“Jesus, just go with it,” Mickey snaps. 

“Ahem. Mickey and Rebecca. Please join hands.” Rebecca takes Mickey’s hand and digs her nails into his palm. 

“Mickey and Rebecca are here today to share their joy with us. To share this step forward in their lives with us. For them, out of the routine of ordinary life, the extraordinary has happened. They met each other, fell in love, and are finalizing it with their wedding.”

Mickey turns his head and looks at his father in complete bafflement. “Really?”

Rebecca digs her nails in hard enough that Mickey’s pretty sure she draws blood. Terry’s face suffuses with red, and he looks like he’s going to kill Mickey until a camera zooms in on his face, Terry’s too good at pretending.

“May I go on?”

“If you think you gotta.”

“Mickey,” Rebecca hisses his name like a curse and he looks at her with as much contempt as he can manage. Which, given he’s had the shit beat out of him twice in the past two days because of this, is a whole fucking lot.

The guy clears his throat again. “A good marriage must be created. It is never being too old to hold hands. It’s remember to say I love you. It is not just marrying the right person, it is being the right partner. Mickey. Rebecca. You are to be joined together as one, as man and wife. Are you both prepared to take this step forward together?”

Mickey doesn’t answer, but Rebecca does. “We are.”

“The couple has agreed to journey into marriage. Is there anyone here who can give reason why they should not be wed?”

“He’s already married.”

Silence covers the church before the whispers start. Mickey turns his head and looks at Ian, striding down the aisle of the church, every camera on him. He’s lit up from the lights and from the colors beaming through the stained glass window above the door. Rebecca turns completely. “Get the fuck out of my wedding.”

“I can’t.” Ian walks up onto the altar and hands the wedding license over to the pastor. “If he marries you, it’s bigamy. He’s legally married in the state of Illinois. “Right?”

The pastor looks over the certificate and frowns. “This is the state seal. And the notarization.”

“Give me that.” Rebecca grabs the paper and tears it into pieces. “Get the fuck out.”

“Tearing it up doesn’t make it not true.” Ian takes a ring out of his pocket and slides it on Mickey’s left hand. Mickey’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t look away from Ian’s hand on his. “Got this back from the jewelers. Just the right size now.”

Mickey doesn’t mean to do it. It’s not even the germ of an idea in his head. It’s instinct. He lifts his hand – his left hand with his fucking wedding ring – to Ian’s face and leans in and kisses him. “Hi.”

“Let’s go home.”

Mickey nods and smiles at Rebecca. “Sorry. No crown for you.”

She slaps him hard and pain flares through the morphine. Mickey takes a step back, but Ian’s hand in the small of his back keeps him standing. “You son of a fucking bitch. Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

“Nothing.” Mickey smiles. “Not a goddamn thing.” 

“You are _not_ my son.” Terry growls the words, and when Mickey looks at him, he can see the anger radiating off of him, the barely held control that’s purely for the cameras. If they weren’t there, Mickey and Ian would both be smears on the ground. 

“I never wanted to be.” Mickey runs his hand over his face with the sleeve of his tux, wiping away some of the makeup. “You’ve gotten your last shot in, Terry.”

Mickey doesn’t see the swing coming, doesn’t actually expect it with all the cameras on them. It catches him in the ribs with the right hook smashing into his jaw. Ian surges forward, but Mickey puts a hand in front of him. “He’s got diplomatic immunity, Ian. We don’t. Besides.” He nods to the press corps. “They got it.” He closes his eyes. “Now if...if you could get me out of here, I’d really like to pass out.”

**

Mickey doesn’t know how they get back to Ian’s. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was in a fucking romantic comedy written by Chuck Palahniuk. He doesn’t know why he’s missing pieces of the past few days, but none of them are actually the ones he’d like to forget. He opens his eyes and then wishes he hadn’t. “Fuuuuuuck.”

“You’re alive.”

“That might just be a fucking rumor. Though if I were dead, I bet it wouldn’t hurt nearly this fucking much. Oh shit.”

“Don’t try to move. Trust me.” Ian moves over and sits on the edge of the bed. “You kept trying to in your sleep, so I had to shove pillows all around you because it obviously hurt. So just lie still.”

Mickey nods once and then drops his head back. “Shit.” He closes his eyes. “The press is going to figure out who you are now.”

“Prince Ian Milkovich.”

“Sorry. Not anymore. Not if he actually disowns me.” He laughs roughly and groans. “I’m sorry.”

He can feel movement and knows Ian shrugs. “Wouldn’t know how to be a prince anyway. I’d probably suck at it.”

“I do. Did.” Mickey sighs and even that hurts. “Saved my life back there, you know.”

“I didn’t. You would have survived. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.” Ian’s finger brushes Mickey’s brow, which might be the only thing that doesn’t hurt. “I’m still angry with you.”

“I know. You should be. You should, by all rights, fucking hate me. I’ve got my passport, so if you want to kick me out as soon as they’ve left the country, you can. Hell, if you want to do it before then, I wouldn’t blame you. We haven’t consummated the marriage, right? So you could get an annulment.”

“Is that what you want?”

Mickey frowns and Ian traces the furrows of his forehead. “Isn’t it what you want? You got roped into this because Mandy’s a fucking persuasive pain in the ass and because you’re a decent person. But you don’t know shit about me, and I don’t know shit about you.”

“People get married for less in Las Vegas.” Ian shrugs. “I like you. Or, well, I liked Mickey. Maybe I’ll like you if we get to know each other. At least give it a shot. I mean, people already give gay marriage a bad name, right? Homosexuals are destroying the meaning of marriage, the fabric of America. Just imagine what kind of a fuck you it would be if this lasted.”

“You’re fucking insane.” Mickey grins. “I like it. Now, please tell me you’ve got some serious fucking pain killers.”


	8. the artist formerly known as prince

Mickey lets himself into the apartment and goes straight to the shower, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor right inside the bathroom door. He gets under the water as soon as it’s not freezing, groaning when it finally gets hot. Every inch of his body hurts in ways that are new and different than the way it hurt yesterday. The shower head is set for Ian so it hits Mickey in the face, but if he faces the back of the shower and takes one step forward the spray hits him along his spine like sharp needles.

He rests his forearms on the wall and cradles his head on them. At some point he’s going to have to scrub the dirt off of himself, but right now it seems like too much of an effort. 

“You want a beer?”

Mickey starts and he smacks his forehead on the wall. “Ow. Jesus. Fuck.”

“Sorry.” Ian pulls the curtain back just enough for his hand to snake in. Mickey takes the beer from him, and the cold can slick when the hot water hits it. It’s already open, so he swigs half of it down. “Rough day?”

“Thought you had a thing tonight.”

“Study group. Bailed on it.” He sees Ian’s shadow move and settle on the toilet seat. “Wasn’t in the mood.”

“Oh.” Mickey keeps his voice neutral. Ian being gone meant that Mickey could put a t-shirt and boxers on and crash out in the actual bed for a few hours. “You going to be okay for the test?”

“Yeah. You didn’t have any plans that I’m fucking up, did you? Nobody coming over?”

Mickey pokes his head out from behind the shower curtain and frowns at Ian, brow furrowed. “What?”

“You were talking about Dave from work. I thought maybe...I don’t know.” Ian’s not looking at him., looking at his hands instead. 

“Dave is married with three kids. I don’t think anyone is as relentlessly straight as Dave is. And, even if he was begging for it up the ass, _I’m_ married.” Mickey moves back into the shower, not wanting Ian to see what Mickey’s afraid is written across his chest. It’s been two months, just two months, and Ian seems to think he’s fucking someone else. Or maybe Ian wants him to be so that he can walk away. 

“You’re free here though. Not like you were under your dad’s reign of terror.” 

“Do you want me to go, Ian?” He shuts off the water, even though it gives him a reason not to look at Ian. He sets the beer can down on the edge of the tub and reaches for a towel. “You know you don’t have to pussyfoot around it. Hell, you don’t even have to ask. You just tell me to get the fuck out.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Mickey climbs out of the tub, towel wrapped around his waist. “You saved my life. Doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice yours. I can be gone in the morning.” Mickey doesn’t let himself feel the tightness in his chest, the sinking of his stomach. He doesn’t even want to recognize that it’s happening, but it’s hard to breath, to swallow, so he can’t ignore it completely. “Tonight, if you’d prefer.”

“I didn’t say I wanted you to leave, Mickey.” Ian sighs, blowing out a frustrated breath and making his bangs dance. “You hungry?”

“No.” Mickey sighs and shakes his head. He didn’t expect this to be easy, but he didn’t expect it to be this hard either. “Thanks. I’m...I’m beat. I’m just going to crash, I think.”

“I got a call from Mandy today.”

Mickey stops breathing for a second and then his heart speeds up, galloping at 100 miles an hour. “What? Why? Is she okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Ian smiles. “She’s good. Really good. She called to invite us to her wedding.”

“Her...what?” Everything twists inside Mickey’s stomach and he feels like he’s going to throw up. “Fuck. God damn it. I shouldn’t have...fuck.” He spins and punches the bathroom wall, cracking the plaster. 

“Hey! Hey!” Ian stands up and comes over, taking Mickey’s hand in his. “What’s the matter?”

“She’s getting married. He’s _forcing_ her to get married just like he was going to force me.” Mickey shakes off Ian’s touch. “I should have just stayed where I was. Then Mandy could have been fucking safe. Free.”

“Mickey. _Mickey!_.” Ian grabs Mickey’s face in his hands. “Mandy’s _happy_. She’s marrying some Prince Stephen or something.”

“Prince Stephen? The dude whose country we invaded by accident?”

“Well, I have a feeling it might not have been on accident. Your sister is a criminal mastermind. I think she got her diploma way before you even enrolled.” Ian’s smiling at Mickey, their faces too close. “She wants us to be there.”

“Because now that she’s gone through all of this she wants us to die painfully?” Mickey shakes his head. “I set foot at home and my dad’s going to have me skinned alive. And then he’s going to make it hurt.” He doesn’t want to think about what his father would do to Ian. 

“It’s at Stephen’s dad’s castle. Not in your home country. You’d be safe.”

“I’ve been working a month. They’re not going to let me just walk away for two weeks.” He steps away from Ian, feeling overwhelmed. “It was hard enough to get them to hire me. And that was just to haul bricks from one end of the construction site to the other. Which do you think makes the most sense, covering my shifts or replacing me?”

“You can find another job if they won’t keep you on.”

Mickey just stares at Ian for a long time before laughing. “Ian, I don’t have a green card yet. And even once I do, I can’t leave the country for a year.”

“You have a valid passport, right? Your green card is going to take 12 to 18 months. Surely you can...”

“Ian. I can’t. You go.”

“You’re her _brother_.” 

“You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I don’t fucking want to see her? See her happy for once in our lives? My dad doesn’t forgive and forget, Ian. If I show up there, I’m a dead man.” He realizes he’s shaking, his voice is shaking and he takes a deep breath. “I know you don’t get it. I know that you can’t comprehend what he’s really like.”

“I saw you after he hurt you. I cleaned you up after the wedding. I know what he’s like.” Ian’s voice is hard. “I know what he can do.”

“He’s a sociopath. A psychopath. He will kill me and not give a fuck. In his eyes, I’m not his son. He’s like one of those crazy preachers who thinks we’re an abomination and that we should die, only he has diplomatic immunity so he can carry through on the thought.”

“Diplomatic immunity isn’t a license to kill!”

“ _I can’t go_. Okay? Just...” He shakes his head and goes over to the box his clothes are in. He tugs on some boxers and a t-shirt before tugging off the towel and reaching for a pair of jeans. “I’m sorry I got you into this. You deserve a hell of a lot better than being trapped in my fucked-up soap opera.”

“Would you stop it? I made this choice. You didn’t force me to do it.”

Mickey looks at Ian’s face, determined and angry and something else Mickey thinks might be hurt. Except he knows it’s not, because hurt doesn’t make any sense. Hurt is just wishful thinking. Mickey’s about to say something else when his stomach growls. He tries to ignore it, but it happens again and Ian starts giggling.

Mickey blushes. “Fuck off.”

Ian laughs harder as it happens again. “Really?”

“Hey, I worked my ass off today.”

“I doubt that.” Ian grabs Mickey’s arm and spins him around. “See? Still there.”

“How’m I suppose to see my own ass?” Mickey’s about to say something else when Ian steps closer, hands cupping Mickey’s ass. “Can you feel that?” 

Mickey makes a small noise as Ian squeezes. “Y-yeah.”

Ian steps back and Mickey has to bite back another noise. He knows he should say something, knows he should do something, but then he feels the sharp sting of a slap and jumps. “All ass.” Mickey turns to look at him, and Ian’s grinning. “Come on. We’ll go to the diner.”

“We have food.”

“Capt’n Crunch and Pop-Tarts are not food. You need protein. Growing boys need meat.” He smirks. “Not that you’re actually growing.”

Mickey shoves him, catching Ian off guard, and Ian falls back onto the bed. Mickey stares down as Ian stares up at him. Mickey breathing shifts and speeds up. Ian’s hand whips up to grab Mickey’s wrist and yanks. Mickey falls on top of him and they’re inches apart. He’s not sure if there’s any air between them. “Ian.”

“Don’t.” Mickey doesn’t get a chance to nod before Ian’s hand is behind Mickey’s head and he’s rolling them over, trapping Mickey against the mattress. “Don’t say anything.”

The kiss is hard and deep. Two months of living in a tiny apartment with each other, brushing against each other on accident, pretending Mickey’s just a guest, pretending that Mickey sleeping on the blow-up mattress on the floor is normal, pretending they hadn’t fucked in Ian’s bed is in the kiss. Ian’s fingers curl around Mickey’s head and Mickey’s find the back of Ian’s neck. The kiss breaks and then starts again a dozen times, each one deep, each one with them sucking each others’ tongues, fucking each others’ mouths. 

Mickey shifts his legs apart and Ian settles on him more firmly, dick hard against Mickey’s. Mickey wraps a leg around Ian’s and pushes against them, pressing Ian up slightly so they’re aligned, sliding against one another. Ian drops his mouth to Mickey’s throat, licking at his skin. Mickey’s whimpering, breathing unsteady as the licks turn into biting, sucking.

He arches upward, leg tight just under Ian’s ass. Ian’s rolling his hips as well as he can with Mickey holding him, but the little bit of room is perfect, intense. Mickey grabs Ian’s t-shirt and tugs at it, getting it up his back halfway before splaying his hands over Ian’s sides, pushing the shirt up further, stroking his hands all over Ian’s skin.

Ian bites hard at Mickey’s jaw and it stings, but he licks the spot as he pulls away to tug his shirt completely off. Ian’s knees dig into Mickey’s thighs to steady himself as Mickey raises up to pull his shirt off too. Ian grabs Mickey’s hands when they’re over his head and pushes him back down onto the bed, pinning them to the mattress with one hand around both wrists. He reaches between them and undoes Mickey’s jeans, reaching into his boxers and squeezing Mickey’s dick. 

Mickey moans roughly, his voice breaking when Ian’s palm swipes across the head of his dick, coming away sticky with pre-come. Mickey arches up again, struggling to get his hands free, to touch Ian. Ian tightens his grip and looks down at Mickey as he wraps his hand around Mickey’s cock. His voice breaks. “It was so good.”

Mickey nods, biting his lower lip and blinking hard. He knows what he fucked up. He knows Ian didn’t love him, but even without that, it was good. The best thing Mickey’s ever had. Ever will have. “I’m sorry. But...but who I was with you is who I am. I’m not...”

“I read up on you.” He’s still stroking Mickey and Mickey has to try hard to focus. “Read about the girls you dated, the life you led. Tried to figure out what was true in the lies you told me.” Mickey has to look away, but Ian snarls, “Look at me.”

Mickey does and he knows Ian can see his eyes shining, burning with tears. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You were going to hurt me no matter what! What the fuck did you think just walking away was going to do, asshole? I was in love with you.”

Mickey’s heart stops beating before racing away. “Wh-wh-what?”

“I was in fucking love with you and you...it was all a _lie_.” Ian’s hand tightens as the stickiness of his pre-come has dried enough that every stroke is on the edge of hurting. “You were a lie. You were him the entire time.”

“No. No. I was _me_.”

“I loved you.”

“I love you.” Mickey never thought he’d say those words to anyone. And he’s keenly aware that Ian’s words are in the past tense, not the present. “I loved you then. I love you now. I swear, Ian. I swear I...” He chokes off as Ian’s hand tightens, his stroke too hard, too rough. 

“We can fuck. No sense in depriving ourselves of that. The sex was great. But I’m not going to love you. Not now. Not ever.” He releases Mickey’s wrists and moves away, goes into the bathroom, presumably to wash Mickey off of him. 

Mickey lays there unmoving, feeling like the world’s biggest fool. He scrubs at his eyes until he sees stars then stands up, doing up his jeans and finding his t-shirt. His stomach growls again and it takes him a second to catch his breath, unsure if he wants to laugh or cry. He goes into the kitchen and gets a package of Pop-Tarts and climbs out onto the fire escape with them and a beer. There’s a faint breeze that carries the smell of the south side with it, and it smells the way Mickey feels.

He sees Ian out of the corner of his eye, watches him grab his book bag and leave the apartment. Apparently even studying is preferable to being around Mickey. He drains his beer and throws the bottle over the side, listening to it shatter as it hits the ground. 

He knows the feeling.

**

He waits a week. 

They fuck almost every night, but Mickey leaves Ian’s bed and sleeps on the blow-up mattress every time. There aren’t bite marks or hickeys or bruises now. There’s perfunctory prep and perfunctory fucking and if Mickey wants to get off, he has to take care of himself. It’d be the worst sex Mickey’s ever had, except it’s Ian.

It’s Ian’s long day. Early shift at the diner, classes all day. He leaves at 3am and usually doesn’t get home until 10pm. Normally Mickey would leave for work three hours after Ian, work until five or six and then walk around and learn the neighborhood and the El system until Ian was due home, then he’d go back to the apartment and wait. Pretend he wasn’t thirsty for the sight of Ian.

Today he gets up as soon as he knows Ian’s gone. He doesn’t need much. His passport. Some money. He leaves most of it for Ian to pay for whatever he needs. Rent or food or whatever. Mickey doesn’t want to know. If he’s going to stop caring, he needs to start now. He takes two changes of clothes in a backpack and looks around the apartment one last time. 

He grew up in a house with fifteen rooms. He grew up with money and ease and privilege. But he wasn’t happy or at home until he was here. He tosses his cell phone on Ian’s bed. He won’t need it where he’s going. Wouldn’t work there anyway. And no one’s going to call.

Mickey locks the door and slides the key underneath it. He puts his hand against the wood and then his forehead. His voice is a broken whisper. “Goodbye, Ian.”

**

Everyone assumes he’s in Chicago, so no one in Europe looks twice at him. No one expects him to be staying in hostels, so no one looks at him when he’s curled up asleep in a corner. He manages to get a job as a dishwasher in a restaurant for a few nights, getting paid under the table so no one is the wiser and he has some cash. He does the same a few more times, and he keeps himself afloat. He’s just moving, not sure where he’s going.

He tells himself that at least. He knows where he’s going. The only place he can if he doesn’t want to live this life forever. He breaks into the church and sleeps in the balcony upstairs in the dark corner behind the organ. It’s uncomfortable, but churches are always a good place to hide.

He watches the services from the back row, and he listens to the choir and watches people pray. He listens to the hustle and bustle as they prepare for the wedding. He hears Mandy’s voice bossing people around and he smiles. She’s going to be furious to see him. Mickey’s sure that she’s talked to Ian, sure that Ian’s told her that he’s gone. Probably told her that he’s relieved and he’s getting the marriage annulled. He closes his eyes, because it hurts to think about Ian.

“Where the _fuck_ is she?”

Every muscle in Mickey’s body tenses and he glances down and sees Terry. He looks huge even with the distance and Mickey’s hand instinctively goes to his side where his rib didn’t knit together quite right.

“Chill out. I’m right here.” Mandy’s sitting in the front pew with Stephen, looking over something. She turns to look at Terry and Mickey’s chest suddenly hurts in a completely different way. She looks beautiful. Happy. Even Terry doesn’t seem to have an effect on her. “What’s the problem?”

“When are we getting this fucking show on the road?”

“We’re doing the rehearsal in an hour. So in an hour.”

“Don’t give me shit, little girl.”

Stephen stands up and looks Terry up and down. Terry doesn’t have any power here, and Stephen’s been basically ruling in his father’s stead for roughly five years. “An hour, Terry.”

“What’d you call me?”

Stephen smirks, and Mickey is already happy for Mandy. “Dad?”

“You fucking...”

“Dad.” Mandy stands up and walks over to Stephen. Mickey notices she doesn’t go any further, and it’s obviously deliberate. “Stephen.”

Stephen sketches out the faintest of bows. “Your majesty.”

“Know your place.” Terry’s face is a dark snarl. “You’re no king yet.” He turns on his heel and, for a moment, it feels like his eyes glance over Mickey, but he keeps walking and Mickey keeps breathing. Mickey draws his knees up to his chest and exhales slowly. Mandy and Stephen get into a playful shoving match and Mickey smiles down at them. Mandy’s going to be okay. That’s all that matters.

He waits until they leave before going out the back door of the church. He sits on the steps and lights a cigarette he found in one of the offices. Smoking’s a luxury he can’t afford right now, so he inhales and holds it as long as he can.

Blowing out the smoke, he glances over to the cemetery behind the church. It’s old, several of the tombstones falling over, crumbling. There’s a low bench under a tree that probably hasn’t been trimmed in fifty hears, so it shadows all around it. Mickey walks over and sits down, closing his eyes. 

“I knew you’d be here, douchebag.”

Mickey doesn’t open his eyes, but he smiles. “Had to make sure you were okay. Happy.”

“I am. I told you I had a plan.” Mandy punches him hard on the arm. “Part of which you ruined by fucking leaving your husband.”

Mickey shakes his head, still not looking at her. “He didn’t want me around. He made that really clear. I wasn’t going to keep him in something he didn’t want to be a part of. He saved my life. I left and gave him back his.”

“He’s miserable without you.”

“He’s better off without me.” He hands her the cigarette so she can take a drag. “He told me he loved me. And then he told me he got over it. That he was willing to fuck me, but that’s all it was. Neither of us wanted that.”

“He loves you, Mickey.”

“No, Mandy. He doesn’t. I’m sorry that I’m ruining your perfect plan and your perfect fairy tale, but he doesn’t love me. You didn’t see his face. You didn’t hear his voice. I did. I was there.”

“Yeah, but you’re an idiot.”

“Mandy.” He stands up and rakes his hands through his hair. “I’m not arguing with you about this. It’s done. If you talk to him tell him to just get the annulment. I’m not going to bother him. I’m not going to contest it or whatever. Hell, I won’t even know he’s done it. I’m not being a martyr. I just don’t want to live with someone who hates me. I’ve done it and it just gets worse. It never gets better. So I’m going to figure out who I am without the title in front of my name.”

“I thought you figured that out in Chicago.”

He bends down and hugs her, kissing her cheek. “Be happy, okay?”

“Mickey. Don’t leave.”

“I’m staying in Europe. I’ll come and visit.”

“Would you stop being such a dumb ass? You’re running. You’re not finding yourself. You’re running away because you’re scared. Because it’s hard. Because you’re an idiot and a pussy. And he’s an idiot too, because he’s scared of getting hurt and afraid you’re going to miss being wealthy and titled. That this is a lie too.”

“You want me to be with someone who thinks I’m lying to him all the time? You want me to be with someone who fucks me like I’m some one night stand? Someone who kicks me out of the bed when he’s done? He doesn’t love me, Mandy. And I can’t live with him and know that he doesn’t because of what I did, what I said, who I am. I’ve already lived through that with Terry.”

“Don’t equate Ian with Terry!”

“I’m not. I’m equating the emotional fallout for me.” He takes a couple of steps back. “Just be happy, okay? Do that for me? For you.”

“Don’t _leave_ , Mickey. Please?”

He waves to her then turns and starts walking. He’s leaving his clothes behind, but it’s okay. Wherever he’s going next will be the last stop and he can figure out the rest of his life. He feels better after seeing Mandy. Maybe it’s closure. Maybe it’s a final goodbye on their own terms and not with her being whisked away home after the debacle of Mickey’s wedding to Rebecca. Not with Mickey not actually able to say goodbye because he was passed out in pain.

He comes out of the church yard onto the street. He sees a familiar flash of red and should have known he wasn’t getting out of Mandy’s vicinity clean. Ian, hands shoved deep in his pockets, falls in step beside Mickey.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Let me buy you coffee?”

Mickey sighs. “Are you going to follow me until I do?”

“I’m not actually following you. We’re sort of walking side by side.” Ian offers him a small smile when Mickey glances over at him. “Please? You’ll also have to tell me how to pay. I don’t understand how this money works.”

Mickey looks across the street to one of the tea rooms. “Fine. Over here.” He grabs Ian’s arm and pulls him inside. Ian looks around, eyes wide, as Mickey speaks to the hostess in his native language. When he finishes, Ian’s looking at him in almost as much awe as when he’d surveyed the room. “What?”

“I’ve never heard you speak like that. I mean, in your native tongue. That was your native tongue, right?”

“Yeah. It’s almost the same dialect as here, so I’m understandable. And they appreciate people speaking it more than English. But don’t worry. They all can speak it and understand you.” The hostess reappears and gestures toward them. Mickey grabs Ian’s arm and pulls him behind him to the back of the tea room, away from the front window, out of sight. Ian’s still marveling at the decorating. Mickey tries not to watch him, to look at him, but he can’t seem to do anything else. 

Ian’s fucking beautiful. More beautiful than Mickey remembered. His skin is a different color, his freckles not quite the same. His eyes are more gold than green today, and his hair is longer, sloppier as it hangs down in his face. He know he’s staring but looking away isn’t possible, even when Ian turns his head and catches Mickey doing it.

“You look good, Mick. I mean, not great. You could use a shower and you’re too thin, but you look good.”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.” Mickey looks at the menu for no reason other than the fact that it isn’t Ian. “What do you want? Coffee? Tea? You hungry?”

“You can order for me. I trust you.” Ian smiles and shrugs. “I also trust that they don’t have anything like ‘rat poison scone’ or anything, so I figure I’m pretty safe.”

Mickey looks up as the waitress comes up to them, ordering a drink for both of them and a scone for Ian. The waitress laughs when he tells her how to make Ian’s coffee and Mickey fights his grin and says something about Americans and their inability to drink coffee without adding everything into it. She waves as she walks away and Ian frowns at him.

“You were making fun of me.”

“She was more than I was.”

“No. She was laughing at what you said.” His eyebrow goes up as he looks Mickey over. “Did you tell her that I sucked in bed?”

“You did suck. Occasionally.”

“Hey!” Ian looks offended as hell.

Mickey laughs. “I meant my dick. Don’t get so freaked out, okay?”

Ian looks mollified and plays with the spoon next to him on the table as they wait for their coffees. He keeps his gaze away from Mickey and Mickey just stares down at his hands. Their coffees and Ian’s scone come quickly. Ian takes a drink of his and makes a happy noise until the bitter taste of the coffee comes through then he coughs, barely setting his cup down before it spills. “Holy shit. What’d you tell her to make me?”

“Coffee. With cream and sugar and caramel and whatever other shit they had.”

Ian reaches across and takes Mickey’s cup. He sniffs it and then takes a sip, setting it down and shoving it away, coughing again. “Oh my god. That’s not coffee. That’s...That’s...tell me it isn’t really rat poison.”

The waitress smacks Ian upside the head and tells him off very impressively. Ian rubs his head and stares up at her, seemingly aware he’s offended her and not sure if he should grovel for forgiveness or just bow his head in shame. Mickey speaks up and apologizes for him, telling her Mickey should have warned him. He may use the phrase ‘pussy American’, but she’s not going to tell Ian he said it.

“The coffee here’s really strong.”

“Noticed.” Ian tears a bit off his scone and eats it warily. “Was that payback?”

“For what?”

“Me being a complete and utter asshole to you.”

“Telling me how you feel isn’t being an asshole.” Mickey shrugs and takes a drink of his coffee. “I wish you’d told me sooner how you felt though. I spent two months making you miserable when I could have been out of your hair.”

“You didn’t make me miserable.”

“You don’t have to lie. I know you’re not here for me. I’m sure you only knew where I was because Mandy told you where to wait. I don’t know why you’re doing it, but you don’t have to. I’m leaving town.”

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Assume nobody gives a damn about you. I think Mandy and your brothers have all proved they do. Your bodyguards did.” Ian sighs. “You act like we’re all better off without you.”

“You _hate_ me. You made it clear that you hate me. I don’t think everyone will be better off without me. I think you will, because once you found out the truth, you didn’t even want to be with me. You said you didn’t know who ‘me’ was.” Mickey rubs his forehead. “I wasn’t going to stop loving you, and you weren’t going to love me. And I’m sure you’d much rather fuck someone you want as opposed to me. Why have decent sex when you can have good sex? I gave you your life back.”

“I didn’t want my life back. I...I wanted the life I had.”

“I know. And now you’ve got it.”

“No. You’re.” Ian stops and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before looking at Mickey. “My life before you was just living. The minute we met, I knew that was all going to change. I tried to remember when I fell in love with you. I don’t remember. It just suddenly was, you know? There wasn’t a _moment_ when firecrackers exploded behind your head and hearts appeared in my eyes. Maybe it was all along and I just finally noticed.”

Mickey’s chest aches. Maybe this is punishment. Maybe this is what he deserves. Knowing what he could have had, what he’ll never have.

“When I found out who you were, I was angry. Angry that you didn’t tell me. Angry that I was lied to. Angry that all the things I’d been basing these stupid fantasies I was creating in my head on weren’t real. I didn’t know what I was. A fling with some commoner? A dirty little secret? Whatever it was, it wasn’t forever, and that’s what I’d been dreaming about. The reality was that you weren’t who I thought you were. You weren’t some guy going to school and making me laugh and sharing the best sex of my life. You were a prince. Royalty. What the fuck does Ian Gallagher from the south side of Chicago have that’s going to interest royalty?”

“His personality. His generosity. His humor. His sincerity. His gorgeous, beautiful, sexy body. His laugh. His bad jokes and worse puns. Everything.” Mickey swallows hard. “My life had been about closets and shadows and lying and fear. Being with you was like being in the light for the first time. And I know that sounds corny as fuck, but...”

“When I got home the night you left, I...everything felt wrong. I’d had a shitty, shitty day and I wanted to walk in and see you. Even though everything was wrong between us, I wanted to see you. I wanted to feel you. But even before I opened the door, I somehow knew you weren’t inside. And when I stepped on the key and turned on the light and everything felt empty.” Ian stabs his scone with his fork and pulls it apart, letting steam curl up into the air. “That’s corny as fuck too, right?”

“Ian...”

“When I’m hurt, I lash out. My family spends their entire lifetimes figuring out exactly which buttons to push. You’re so fucking expressive, I knew what would hurt you, and I used it because I was hurting too. I thought maybe by hurting you, I’d feel better. I wouldn’t be as hurt. But it doesn’t work that way. And then I was so mad at myself, because I didn’t know how to take it back. How to tell you that I was lying. How to tell you we could never be just sex. And that’s when I realized.”

Mickey doesn’t want to ask, but morbid curiosity makes him. “Realized what?”

“What you went through. Not exactly the same, but once you lie or evade or just hide something, how do you rectify it? How do you not make it worse? When’s the right time to tell someone that they’re mistaken. That you’ve led them to believe something? Not intentionally, or maybe it was, but once it’s out there, how do you take it back?”

“It’s easy. You can’t.” 

“I love you. Then. Now. That was the worst and hardest lie I told you. That was the one thing I knew would hurt you the most, because I knew how much it cost you to say it to me. But this is the truth. Right here. Right now. I’m Ian Gallagher from Chicago. I’m a student and I work in a diner and I’m jealous and petty and spiteful, but I try to be a good person even with all those things. I hurt people I love when I’m hurt. I met this guy and I fell in love with him and I married him. And then I made him think he had to leave, and I want him to come back, come home, more than anything in the world. I want to fix what we both broke.”

“You practice that on the flight over?”

Ian kicks Mickey under the table. “Maybe.”

Mickey clears his throat. “Okay. I’m Mykhailo Milkovich. The name’s Ukrainian, but I’m from Acoritania, which is close enough to count. My father’s family raided the area hundreds of years ago and set up their own country, but it’s only become officially recognized since the fall of the USSR. I have three older brothers, but they were voted out of succession when they knocked some girls up. I was the crown prince. But that wasn’t who I am. I'm shy and loyal and jealous and quick to anger, and probably a hundred other things – good and bad – that I never let myself discover or know because I was so busy hiding. I met this guy and he was everything I always dreamed about and pretended I never wanted. He made me laugh and he made me want and I loved him so much. And then I hurt him. And I tried to stop loving him, but it didn’t work. Didn’t even come close. And I ran because I was scared because I knew that I’d take whatever he would give me if I stayed. And I knew he’d hate me in the end, even more than he already did.”

“But he didn’t. And he doesn’t.”

“Apparently not.” 

“You said you loved him. That you couldn’t stop. Does that mean you still love him? Even though he’s a jackass?”

Mickey huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Even though he’s a jackass.”

“He’s a jackass with a very nice hotel room provided by the aforementioned prince’s sister.”

“Ex-prince.”

“Did you miss the part about the hotel room?” 

Ian grins at him and leans across the table, his face in front of Mickey’s, close enough that all Mickey can taste is Ian’s breath. Ian closes his eyes, but Mickey can’t. He can’t miss this. Not for anything in the world. 

The kiss is soft and gentle and it takes Mickey’s breath away. When Ian pulls back, his eyes are bright and his smile is even brighter. “Come on.” Ian digs out his wallet and hands it to Mickey. “Help me figure out this money and then we’ll go back there, okay?”

“How do you even function in the world, Gallagher?”

“Dunno. Better go back to Chicago where it’s safe.”

“Hotel room first.”

**

Mickey looks around the room while Ian shuts and locks the door, muttering under his breath. He finally turns around and puts his hands on the door, leaning back on them. “Okay. All set.”

“Unless someone can break the chain?”

“Shut up.” 

Mickey does, nodding instead. He knows Ian is nervous. He’s nervous too. Both of them wondering if the other one is lying, if this is a trick, if there’s a catch somewhere, if someone is going to pop out from behind something and shout ‘surprise!’. “Mandy did good.”

“You should see the bathroom.”

Mickey starts in that direction and he can hear Ian right on his heels. The bathroom is bigger than Ian’s apartment in Chicago. There’s a huge mirror over the vanity and the tub is probably the size of Ian’s bed. “Jesus.”

“I know. I’m going to be claustrophobic when I take a piss at home. I’m going to be used to the wide open spaces.” 

Mickey laughs, catching Ian’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Ian’s smile fades and he steps closer, hands settling on Mickey’s shoulders, holding his gaze. Mickey takes a chance and leans back, his head resting on Ian’s chest. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist, lacing his fingers together. Mickey chews on his lower lip, unable to look away.

“I want to fuck you. Right here. Like this.” Ian whispers in Mickey’s ear. “I want you to watch yourself fall apart for me. I want to see you break me down.”

“Jesus, Ian.” Mickey’s eyes flutter closed and his head falls back. Ian’s mouth settles warmly on his, and Mickey’s eyes close tighter just so he can’t open them and find out this is all in his head. The kiss deepens and Ian licks into Mickey’s mouth, every movement slow and deliberate. He moans quietly around Ian’s tongue as it slides against his, reaching up to loop his hand around the back of Ian’s neck.

Mickey shivers when Ian pulls away a few moments later. He opens his eyes, suddenly afraid of what he might see. Ian kisses him hard then eases back, tugging his shirt over his head. Mickey licks his lips then does the same, waiting with his hands on his waistband while he watches Ian strip off the rest of his clothes. 

Mickey makes a low noise as Ian straightens up. The last few times they fucked it was in the dark, neither of them looking at one another. This time Ian lets Mickey look his fill, at least for a while until he waves at Mickey. 

“You should get naked now. It’s going to make doing this a hell of a lot easier.”

“Right. Right. Naked.” Mickey strips out of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can. Ian crowds close before Mickey’s done, tilting his chin up so Ian can kiss him again. Mickey can’t help the low moan Ian’s kiss forces out of him as he eases a leg between both of Mickey’s. Ian’s cock is hard and heavy against Mickey’s body and he wants to taste it. Taste Ian. “Let me?” Mickey asks and sinks down to his knees, taking Ian deep in his mouth.

Ian groans and Mickey hears his hands hitting the vanity counter. Mickey skims his fingers over Ian’s hips and down his thighs as he leans in and licks up the length of Ian’s cock. He wraps both hands around the base of Ian’s dick and then licks the head, not giving Ian time to react before Mickey’s swallowing him down again.

“Jesus, Mick. Fuck.” Ian’s hand fists in his hair and he holds Mickey’s head still, fucking into his mouth. Mickey moans around him and Ian shudders, pulling free. “I want to fuck you.” He uses his hand in Mickey’s hair to pull Mickey to his feet, pull him into a hard, hot kiss. Mickey arches against Ian and it’s almost too much, too good. “Turn the fuck around.”

Mickey does as he’s told, though he whimpers when he does it, wanting Ian’s body on his. He stares at Ian in the mirror and they both look flushed, hungry. He can barely see the green of Ian’s eyes around his blown pupils, and Mickey knows his eyes are the same.

Ian bites the junction of Mickey’s throat and shoulder, never looking away. Mickey’s cock jerks and he tilts his head, giving Ian room to do whatever he wants. Instead Ian sinks to his knees, kissing his way down Mickey’s spine. “I-Ian, I...”

“Shut up.” Ian bites the cheek of Mickey’s ass and spreads him with his thumbs. He bites closer to Mickey’s hole and Mickey shudders hard, hands flat on the counter, arms already shaking. Ian’s tongue flicks over him, teasing light and barely there, and then his tongue is inside Mickey, pointed tip and pushing in and Mickey falls forward onto his elbows. 

Ian licks and sucks and fucks Mickey’s ass with his tongue, the tip and the flat and too much and everything. Mickey watches himself pant, unintelligible sounds loud in the bathroom, the acoustics giving every one a slight echo. His dick is throbbing, his pulse pounding out Ian’s name. 

Mickey’s legs quiver as Ian pushes his tongue deep, curling it and brushing too-sensitive skin. His cock is leaking, drops sliding across the head and dripping to the floor. It’s too much and Mickey’s too close. Ian seems to sense it and pulls away, licking one last time from Mickey’s hole and up the crack of his ass. Mickey doesn’t know if he’s breathing. His head is light and his whole body is tense, hovering just at the edge.

“Please. Please, Ian. God, please. Need you.” Ian pushes two fingers inside Mickey. He’s looser than he was, but it’s still tight and rough even though Ian’s going slow. Mickey’s erection flags slightly at the breach, but then Ian’s fingers take over where his tongue left off. His dick is hard against Mickey’s thigh and his free hand grabs Mickey’s hair and lifts his head so he’s watching himself, watching them.

Mickey and Ian both groan roughly as their eyes meet and Ian buries his head against Mickey’s neck, his eyes still on Mickey’s in the mirror. “Bag. In the bag. Lube.”

Mickey fumbles for it, his hands trembling. He pulls out toothpaste first and then hair gel. “Jesus Christ.” He finally finds it and thrusts it back toward Ian. 

“Could...could have used the gel,” Ian huffs, his laugh feathering against Mickey’s skin and bringing up goose bumps all over him. 

“Fuck off. Don’t need you styling my ass.” This time Ian’s laugh is a snort and Mickey manages to elbow him in the stomach. “Ian,” he warns.

Ian eases his fingers free and lubes them up, sliding them back in. Mickey moans and Ian smirks at him. It fades into a faint smile, into an expression Mickey remembers from before everything fell apart. “You are him,” Ian whispers, and they’re almost the best three words Mickey’s ever heard. “Mick. Missed you so much. God, I love you. So...so much. You leave me again I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Not gonna. Won’t. Please.” Ian’s fingers pull free again and Mickey whimpers until he feels the hard press of Ian’s dick. He slides in and Mickey can’t help but watch his own face as he bites his lip, as Ian pushes inside. The whimper turns into a moan, mouth open, eyes shadowed. “I-Ian.”

Ian buries himself and stills before reaching around, placing his hands over Mickey’s on the counters, fingers curling around Mickey’s fists. He stares into Mickey’s eyes as his hips roll, as he thrusts. Ian’s dick is slick with lube, just enough drag that Mickey can’t help pushing back. Ian feels good, feels perfect as he fucks him, claims him. Everything in Ian’s eyes is possessive and desperate and Mickey can feel his orgasm pool in the base of his dick, heat suffusing him as he gets closer.

Ian leans forward, hips jerking as he thrusts deeper, harder. Sweat pools on Mickey’s back as Ian lays on him, letting go of Mickey’s hand to wrap one arm around his waist. Mickey can’t hold it any longer as Ian shifts and finds the sweet spot, his hand turning to brush his fingers against Mickey’s dick, his other hand pushing into Mickey’s fist and threading their fingers together. 

Mickey’s knees give out so Ian presses him more firmly against the counter, and Mickey knows he’ll have a bruise across his stomach when Ian’s done. It’s been so long since Ian marked him, Mickey begs for Ian to fuck him harder. Ian obliges, slamming Mickey into the counter until he gasps and stills and Mickey feels Ian’s come fill him.

Ian slumps forward, pinning Mickey down, breathing heavily against the back of Mickey’s neck. He lifts his head so he’s looking at Mickey in the mirror. Mickey never thought he’d want to watch himself have sex, always thought being face to face with Ian was all he needed, but something about Ian being lost and unguarded and never knowing when Mickey’s eyes were on him, watching how much Ian looked at him, even when he didn’t have to, when he didn’t know Mickey was looking at him feels like Ian’s shared a secret with him.

“Don’t ever leave me again, fuckhead.”

Mickey nods. “I won’t.” Ian pulls out slowly, and Mickey can feel the trickle of Ian’s come inside him. He shivers. “Oh fuck. S-still inside me.”

Ian presses two fingers back in to Mickey’s ass, slick with Ian’s come. Mickey gasps, sore and sensitive and he barely manages to stay on his feet when Ian pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Not sure I can make it that far.”

Ian eases Mickey’s arm around his shoulders then slides his own arm around Mickey’s waist. “I’ll help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There'll be an epilogue. :D?


	9. a prince among men

“You’re freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Ian. You’re _dusting_. You’re freaking out.” Mickey sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out, catching Ian’s hand. “Relax.”

“I can’t relax. Relaxing involves not thinking, and I can’t not think because this is a huge thing. This is your sister – a queen – and her husband – a king – meeting my family. Who are not royalty. Who are, in fact, the opposite of royalty. We’re like the anti-royalty. Put us in a room together and we all vanish out of existence.”

Mickey pulls Ian onto his lap and wraps his hands around his waist. He looks up at Ian, smiling softly. Being in love with Ian is something different every day so Mickey’s constantly surprised. They’re still learning each other after a year, and Mickey wonders if they’ll ever learn everything. He doesn’t think so. He thinks they’ll just keep uncovering layer after layer of each other.

“Mandy loves you. I love you. Your family only marginally hates me. It’ll be fine.”

“They don’t hate you.”

“They don’t like me.”

“They don’t like that I got hurt.”

Mickey laughs and tugs Ian higher up on his lap. “That was a year ago. Either they hold one hell of a grudge or they actually don’t like me.”

“I like you.” Ian kisses him softly. “Like, a lot. A lot a lot.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot who _liiiiiiiiiikes_ you.” Ian kisses Mickey’s forehead and then the tip of his nose. “It’ll be fun. Mandy will make my family fall in love with her and we’ll eat too much food and drink too much shitty beer and Carl will as questions about what Stephen can get away with as king, and Debbie will stare at Mandy with stars in her eyes and we’ll sneak upstairs to my room and fuck.”

“What about Lip and Fiona?”

“They can’t come with us.”

Mickey jabs Ian in the side. “You are such a dick.”

Ian puts his hands on the sides of Mickey’s face and looks at him intently. “I don’t care what anyone else things. I don’t care what they do or like or don’t like when it comes to us. I care what we think.”

“And what do you think, Ian Gallagher?”

“Milkovich.”

Mickey starts to say something when his phone rings. He picks it up and looks at it, frowning when he sees Mandy’s name. “Mands? You okay? You’re not coming in until tomorrow, right?”

“Terry’s dead.”

Mickey feels like ice has just swept through his veins and he nearly drops the phone. “What?”

“Terry’s dead.”

“He’s...how? When?”

“A few hours ago, we think. We’re trying to get hold of Mom, but I guess since your wedding and my wedding, she’s been hitting the morphine pretty hard. Not sure how out of it she is. And I imagine the boys are scrambling. I mean, officially I can’t rule one country and help rule another. And I’m not sure how everyone would feel about combining them. And I don’t think Terry ever changed his will.”

“But he changed the succession laws, right?”

Mandy’s quiet and Mickey laughs shakily. “Mandy. Right?”

“The king is dead. Long live the kind.”

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey shakes his head at Ian’s concerned look. “Find out what you can and call me back, okay? We’ll...the family reunion, meet the in-laws dinner will have to wait.”

“Can you come here?”

Mickey sighs. The INS had expedited his green card application so that his waiting period was almost up. He still has a month to go though, so he’ll have to apply for a special dispensation to go. “Let me look into it.”

Mandy’s quiet for a little while. “Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it horrible that I’m glad he’s dead?”

“No. Not even a little bit. He was a monster, not a man.” Ian’s brow furrows even more and he looks at Mickey expectantly. “I’m going to go, okay? Let me know what you find out, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Please come home. Don’t you want to throw that first fistful of dirt in his face?” She laughs a little and the sound is milky with tears and suppressed laughter. Mickey knows the feeling. He wants to shout out to the sky. 

“I’ll do what I can. Love you, Mands.”

“Love you too, asshole.” Mandy hangs up and Mickey drops his phone on the bed.

“What?” Ian forces Mickey too look at him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is Mandy okay? Mickey?”

Mickey blinks to focus on Ian’s concerned face and he smiles. “Ding dong, the witch is dead.”

Ian tilts his head, obviously confused. “What?”

“Terry’s dead.”

“Your dad?”

Mickey nods. “I’m going to have to go home for a while probably if he didn’t change the laws of succession. I’m next in line. So I’ll have to go and...figure shit out.”

“But he disowned you, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know. I never heard anything official, not that I was looking for it. Maybe he did? Maybe he didn’t.” 

“If he didn’t? Then you’re...king?”

“I guess? I don’t know. I didn’t think the bastard would ever die.” Mickey frowns and shakes his head. “Okay. I think I need to dust now.”

Ian wraps his arms tight around Mickey and holds him close. Mickey doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Ian makes it stop. “Today just got really weird.”

Mickey’s laugh is strangled. “No shit.”

**

Ian stares out the window of the town car, turning his head to look at the palace as they drive past. “I think Mary Shelley had nightmares about this place.”

“Probably. The inside’s less horror movie though.” Mickey’s flipping through a sheaf of papers, trying to make sense of what apparently is government-speak and is a language all its own. 

“Your dad’s really lying in state? Like in a glass coffin? Like Evita?”

“I don’t know. I landed exactly the same time you did.” He reaches over without looking and squeezes Ian’s hand. “It’s going to be fine.”

“That’s my line.”

“Yeah, well. Couple, remember? We share everything.” He takes his hand back and flips forward a couple pages. “I don’t know what any of this shit means.”

“You have advisers, right? Like...political advisers? Even if you’re not king? I can’t believe they wouldn’t tell you if you were king or not over the phone.”

“I don’t _want_ to be king, Ian. Remember?”

“Right. I know. I just...I could be...what? Queen Ian? Co-king? I mean, it’s weird, right? Because gay people are queens, and you’re a king, so you’d be a King Queen?” He laughs, and Mickey can tell by the high pitch that Ian’s nervous. “Will there be a place for me to throw up?”

“I’m sure we can find somewhere.” He shoves the papers back into the briefcase they’d come in. Setting it aside, he undoes his seat belt and moves closer to Ian. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. No matter what happens.”

“I know. I just...you’re different. Here. Like this. It’s like you put on a different person when we landed.”

“I’m still me, Ian.”

“I know. I do. I just...I’ve never seen you like this before. It’s strange. Kinda hot too. Even if you turn it down, can you be king for a couple hours so I can fuck a king? Because I could get behind that.”

“No pun intended?”

Ian laughs loudly. “What’d you call me before? The power behind the throne? Is a king supposed to take it up the ass?”

“Ian?” Mickey catches his chin and makes him face him. “The driver can hear you. Shut up.”

“Oh. Right. Right. Shit. Sorry.” He leans forward over the seat. “Sorry.”

Mickey tugs him back and leans against him. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“But do you like me like me?”

“Ian.”

Ian looks at him, impish grin dancing across his lips. “Yeah?”

Mickey kisses him. “Shut up.”

**

Iggy, Colin, and Joey are staring at Ian. Mickey’s pretty sure it’s the ROTC training Ian had that has him standing so straight and pretty much at attention. Mickey wants to tell him that his brothers are idiots, but he also wants his brothers to like Ian. 

“There are rules.” Iggy says loudly, like he’s making a proclamation. “Like...don’t talk about sex.”

Mickey smirks. “Then that goes for you too.”

All three of them frown at Mickey. “But we don’t have gay sex.”

“We don’t talk about sex, you don’t talk about sex. You don’t get to make rules that only apply to us. In fact, until parliament tells us what the law of succession is and what Dad’s will is, you don’t get to make any rules.”

“We don’t want to hear about butt stuff.”

Ian glances over at Mickey, and Mickey can tell he’s fighting a smile. “You think I want to hear what you talk about? Trust me, we definitely have no desire to hear about what you get up to.”

They’re still frowning, looking from Ian to Mickey and back. “So, like, you’re married and shit. Legally.”

“In the U.S., yes. I don’t know how it stands while we’re here. I imagine your dad wasn’t keen on gay marriage.”

“You can say that again,” Joey snorts. “Especially yours. I’m surprised he didn’t give himself a heart attack or an aneurysm bitching about Mickey and you. He came up with some choice names for you two, that’s for damn sure.”

“Where’s Mom?”

“Stoned out of her head in her room. Told the press she’s bereft with grief.”

“Bereft?” Mickey raises an eyebrow. “You even know what that means?”

“Sabrina told us to say it. Figured it was something bad.”

“Okay, well, I’m gonna give Ian the tour of the house. You guys...go do whatever you do.”

The three of them amble off and Mickey shakes his head. “I know they’re not as dumb as they look or sound, but sometimes I wonder.”

“So, take me on this tour. What’s the first stop? Your bedroom?”

“That can be the last stop, horndog.” He takes Ian’s hands and gives him a tour of the downstairs. He loves watching Ian’s reactions, loves seeing all of this through new eyes. When they walk through the kitchen, Mickey gets a stern warning from the head cook, but he reaches out and picks up one of the tartlets on the counter and pops it into Ian’s mouth. Ian bites into it and then chews, his eyes closing and his face beaming with a smile. 

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

Mickey smirks at the cook who points at him. “You, I don’t like. Him, I like.”

Mickey blows her a kiss and grabs two more tartlets, giving one to Ian and eating one himself. They go up the main staircase and Ian stops at the top, looking down. “This is fucking insane. You grew up here?”

“Yeah. Home sweet hell.” Mickey tugs on Ian’s hand. “Come on.” He walks them down the hall, pointing at rooms and telling Ian what they’re for. He shows him two of the guest rooms and tells him he used to hide in them when he was little, thinking if he wasn’t in his room, his dad wouldn’t be able to find him. He shows them the wing his brothers have taken over with their wives and children. He shows him Terry and his mom’s room behind the wall at the top of the staircase and then heads up to the top floor via a smaller staircase across from his parents’ room. 

“Mandy has that half. Had that half.” Mickey gestures to the left. “This way is me.”

Mickey opens the door and Ian’s eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit.”

The main room is big and open. Or would be if there weren’t upended bookcases and shattered furniture. Mickey picks his way through the mess to the opposite end of the room and opens the door to his bedroom. Everything is destroyed. His clothes are strewn all over the room, ripped and torn and sliced. There’s a dark melted mass in the middle of the bed, surrounded by the singed remains of the mattress. Terry must have found his stash of toys and set the whole fucking thing on fire.

“Jesus, Mick.”

Mickey goes to his closet and opens it, turning on the light. Everything is on the floor in pieces, like a cloth jigsaw puzzle. Mickey wades through the clothes to the back of the closet and presses on a small plank of wood. He has to shove on the door to get it to open when it gets stuck on a pile of clothes and he can tell before he turns on the light that Terry hadn’t forgotten about the room, and hadn’t spared anything. He’d known since he saw the melted plastic, but somehow he’d hoped that maybe he’d just been sloppy.

The bulb shatters the darkness and Mickey knows that wasn’t the case. He’d kept his life in this room. What was really him. His books, his journals, his prized possessions. Photographs. Mementos. Terry didn’t spare anything. Mickey squats down and turns over a fragment of paper, a photograph with half of Mickey’s face torn away. 

“We should probably sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight.” He straightens up and turns around. Ian’s looking at him with wide, shocked eyes. 

“How could he do this? How could he...I know how he could. I just don’t understand it. Why?”

“My thoughts?” Mickey shrugs. “He was probably gay. Hated it. Hated himself. And maybe he knew deep down that I was. Maybe that was why he hated me so much, why he took shit out on me. I don’t know. I don’t care. The fucker’s dead, and I don’t know a single person who’s going to mourn him.” 

“I wish he wasn’t dead so I could beat his face in.”

Mickey laughs, and it’s brittle. “Come here for a second. Help me with something?” Mickey steps back and points to a small recess over the door. “There’s a box up there. I hope.”

Ian reaches up and feels around, finally bringing the box down. It’s a carved camphor box, the curved tail of the dragon etched on the top circling the sides of it. “Wow. That’s beautiful.”

“It was my grandmother’s. My grandfather brought it from China.” Mickey opens it carefully. Inside is his sigil and two tarnished rings. “These were theirs. I imagine this was part of what he was looking for. My grandmother told everyone they’d been stolen, but she’d given them to me. She said they were cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“Yeah,” Mickey nods. “Lots of superstition here.”

“How are they cursed? Why would she give them to you if they were cursed?” Ian picks one up and puts it in the palm of his hand. “Did she not like you either?”

“No. The opposite. I was her favorite. She never spoke English, so her voice is always in Acoritanian. Raspy from smoking cigars all her life.” He closes his eyes and repeats her words, his voice thickening with his accent. When he finishes and looks over, Ian’s smiling at him.

“What did she say? What did it mean? It sounded really pretty for a curse.”

“She said it was the ring my grandfather had given her and he’d sworn his undying love, swore that she would be his until her dying day and he would be hers until his. He put it on her finger and it never came off. Even when she tried to yank it off and throw it at him when she was furious with him. Even when she tried to take it off so she could leave him when she realized what kind of son they’d had, when she thought she could save the kingdom by taking Terry away. It wouldn’t come off. He’d cursed it, bewitched it so that his only came off when he died. She’d held his hand and it had slid off easily.”

“But you said she gave you hers.”

Mickey nods, and he hates that he’s going to spoil the fairy tale. “Yeah. She took it off after she told me the story. And then she told me I was a gullible idiot and smacked me upside the head.” Ian’s face falls. Mickey reaches over and takes the ring out of Ian’s palm. “And then she pulled me close and said that the ring wouldn’t come off because she never wanted to take it off, but she knew she couldn’t wait until she was gone. She had to make sure I had it, because I’d understand.”

“Really? Or are you shitting me?”

“In the orthodox religion, we wear our wedding rings on our right hands.” Mickey takes Ian’s right hand and puts the ring around the tip of his finger. “Should we find out?”

Ian nods. “Probably not going to fit me though.”

“My grandmother had man-hands. And yours are all dainty and shit.”

“Dainty?”

Mickey slides the ring on. It fits Ian, though it’s a little snug. “Dainty.”

Ian reaches into the box for the other ring and puts it on Mickey’s finger. It’s roughly the same fit as Ian’s, Mickey thinks. “We’re never going to find out, you know.”

“We’re not?”

“Nope. Because I’m not going to try to take it off.”

Mickey snaps the box closed and takes Ian’s hand in his. “Let’s get the fuck out of this room, huh?”

“Yeah.”

**

Mickey takes way too much pleasure in getting fucked hard and loud in his father’s house. Ian pounds into him until springs squeak and the headboard bangs. Instead of Ian, it’s Mickey who can’t shut up. It’s exorcising ghosts with begging and pleading and demanding and feeling and tasting and loving Ian. His orgasm spills all over the comforter and Ian’s spills out of him as Mickey lies on the bed exhausted.

They do it again in the morning, this time face to face. Ian bends Mickey nearly in half and fucks him even harder, thrusting deep until Mickey can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t think. He comes all over himself and he can really feel Ian’s come trickling out of his hole when he pulls away. 

Ian kneels between Mickey’s legs and rubs his thighs. “What next?”

“We go to parliament today. Hear the will. Hear the law of succession.” Mickey closes his eyes and revels in the feel of Ian’s touch. “And then...we figure out the rest.”

“You’re not going to sing Lion King songs are you?”

“No.” Mickey opens one eye and glares at him. “And neither are you.”

“You spoil all my fun.” 

Mickey closes his eye again, but his eyebrows go up. “All of it, huh?”

“Well. Maybe not _all_.”

Mickey grabs Ian’s arms and pulls him in then slides his hands up Ian’s back to his shoulders, the back of his neck. He opens both eyes and smiles, Ian slightly blurry from being so close. “We should get ready.”

“Yeah.”

“Kiss me first.” Mickey parts his lips as Ian closes the distance between them, the kiss something soft and easy but there’s something underneath it, something strong and firm and binding. “And then you can fuck me in the shower.”

“And you say I’m the horny one.”

“I didn’t say you were the only one.”

**

Mickey fingers the sigil in his pocket and listens as his future is read out in front of the entire country. There’s no legal documentation of Terry disowning Mickey. There’s been no change in the will. There’s been no change in the law. Mickey is king by the rule of succession. Ian’s wearing a translator, so he knows everything that was just said and his eyes are wide.

Mickey smiles slightly and stands up, walking down to the floor where the prime minister is standing on the dais. He touches the proclamation with trembling fingers. His name is carefully written in looping script, waiting to be notarized and sealed into law with his sigil. He looks at Ian and then back at the proclamation then around the room. There are TV cameras and reporters and people who were able to make it to gather here on short notice. 

He clears his throat and pulls out his sigil, setting it on the podium beside him. “My father was a shitty king. And, while I don’t think I’d be as cruel and arbitrary as he was, I think I’d be a shitty king too. They say the king should be someone who doesn’t want the power, but who knows how to wield it nonetheless. I fulfill one of those requirements, but not the other. By law, and because I do not wish for this country that I love to be without a king, I seal this into law.” He takes the red candle and lets it drip on the paper before pressing his official seal in to the warm wax. 

He looks at Ian again and smiles. The look on Ian’s face tells him he’s doing the right thing. Ian looks scared and nervous because Mickey knows Ian never thought he’d take the crown. Mickey hopes Ian trusts him. Hopes he can tell that Mickey’s smile is meant to reassure him. 

“And my first act as king is to yield the throne to Anton Milkovich. As eldest, he has the true right to the crown and to rule. I know he’ll be a good king to all of you, because he is a good brother. I trust him to lead you, and if he does a shit job, I’ll come back here and kick his ass.”

Everyone laughs and Mickey glances over, waiting for the speech to translate for Ian. Ian looks at him with the brightest smile Mickey’s ever seen. 

“I’ll leave it to you to draw up the legal documents and I’ll sign them when they’re ready. It’s time to bury Terry and actually give us all a future. And it’s time for me to go home.”

**

There’s a church service Mickey doesn’t go to, and a burial that he does. Ian stands beside him and holds his hand tight. Everyone leaves when the speeches are over, but Mickey stays to watch Terry be lowered into the ground. Ian stands behind him as the backhoe rains dirt down on the coffin again and again until nothing is visible.

He glances back at Ian. “Are you upset that you don’t get to be married to the king anymore?”

“I could marry your brother.”

Mickey laughs. “Fucker.”

“If being king is what you wanted, I’d be married to the king. But I don’t think this has ever been you. Not really.”

“No. It’s not.”

“So you sign the papers and we go home to our place that’s the size of one of the closets in the palace. And we keep our rings on.”

Mickey takes Ian’s hand and starts walking away from the grave. “We could get a bigger place. I have a trust fund that’s mine in a few months. And, even though I gave Tony the throne, I still inherit the bulk of everything. I’m not going to take it, mind you. Not all of it anyway. But we could actually have a bedroom. And a bed that doesn’t have to fold up into the wall.”

“You don’t like our little hovel?”

“I do. I would also like a bigger hovel.”

“I suppose having furniture that doesn’t need to be moved every time people come over might be okay.”

“You know it doesn’t matter though, right?”

Ian looks at Mickey. “What do you mean?”

“Here. Chicago. No matter where we live. You’re home.”

Ian lets go of Mickey’s hand and turns around, walking backwards. “That was really fucking sappy, Mick.”

“Fuck off, asshole.”

Ian laughs. “Come on. I want to fuck you while you’re still the king.”

“Fine, but I don’t care how good it is. You’re not getting knighted.”

Ian grabs Mickey’s hand and jerks him hard against him. “We’ll see about that. I’m pretty sure after what I’ve got planned, you’ll be begging to have me on my knees in front of you.”


End file.
